


17 A.W. (After Winchester)

by cleflink



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Space, Crossover, Dean is a space cowboy, IN SPACE!, M/M, Titan A.E. - Freeform, UST, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 09:37:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleflink/pseuds/cleflink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ever since the Deamhanan destroyed the Earth and his dad abandoned him, Sam has spent his life in space, going out with a whimper along with the rest of the human race. When a stranger named Dean tells Sam that he's the key to finding a weapon capable of killing the Deamhanan, Sam gets swept up in a fight he never wanted to be a part of and finds himself far more attracted to Dean than he wants to be. Now he must struggle to find his own destiny and discover the truth about his connection with Dean.</p>
            </blockquote>





	17 A.W. (After Winchester)

**Author's Note:**

> Crossover of Supernatural and Titan A.E. written for spn_cinema.

The Earth exploded when Sam was five. It was the sort of thing that tended to put a damper on the rest of your life.

\---

"Hurry it up with those drinks, Sam!" T'lak bellowed, words contorted around his accent to the point that Sam could hardly recognize them as Standard. "We've got some celebrating to do!"

"Coming!" Sam called back, wincing as the glass overbalanced and a slide of viscous red liquor burned down the length of his finger. He shook his hand and hefted the full tray, weaving through the bar towards the table at the back where T'lak and the rest of his work crew were waiting.

"A toast!" T'lak declared. 

Sam deftly avoided his swinging arms as he passed out drinks, just as wary of wandering hands as he was of spilling ouquo all over the table. T'lak's men weren't really much of a threat - they'd all been around long enough to know that Sam was _really_ off limits - but it never hurt to be careful.

He'd hardly finished distributing drinks when a waving appendage beckoned him across the floor to take another order. Sighing internally, Sam spared a moment to curse the server who'd jumped station with a Mongali transporter three clicks back, her absence forcing Sam to tend bar _and_ wait tables. For no extra pay, of course.

There were three new orders on his pad by the time Sam made it back to the bar - impressive when the room was barely half full. He stalked to the taps and got to pouring, wearing an expression that anyone with even half a brain would have known to keep well clear of.

"Hey there, sweetheart," a voice said, in lightly accented Standard. "Any chance of a drink?"

"In a minute," Sam answered, not turning away from the taps. "Gotta wait your turn in here."

"No worries," the voice said, sounding amused. There was the creak of a barstool as whoever it was leaned back. "I'm sure you're worth the wait."

Wonderful. Sam rolled his eyes and very deliberately didn't turn to look at the jackass who thought he looked like a convenient bed warmer just because the human race didn't exactly have the luxury of being picky these days. He swept off with the drinks, dawdling as long as he could without being too obviously rude, then headed back to the bar and the resident Don Juan.

"Sorry," he said as he drew up, his tone making a lie of the words. "Busy night. What can I get -" The guy turned his way and Sam stared, surprised despite himself. 

He was human.

The human leaned forward and flashed a winning smile. "Depends. Is it cliché to ask for your number?"

"Yes," Sam answered after a too-long pause, shaking off his shock like an unwanted coat. He circled behind the bar and immediately busied himself with restocking glasses, deliberately not looking towards the occupied chair.

The man was undeterred. "How about your name then, sweetheart?"

After a quick glance to make sure that his boss wasn't lingering by the staff teleport, Sam gave in to the urge to lean forward and fix the stranger with a flat smile. 

"I can turn you down in eighteen different languages," he said sweetly, reluctantly noticing as he did that the stranger was young, fit and devastatingly good-looking in a rakish, Han Solo kind of way. "Which one would you prefer?"

That earned him a beat of startled silence and, surprisingly, a grin. "Oh, stick with Standard," the man said. He tossed Sam a wink. "My Cryllic's not what it used to be."

T'lak chose that moment to hail Sam again in his Cryllic-tainted Standard and the man's grin widened.

Sam glared at him. "Alright then. Fuck off." He turned to the taps to refill T'lak's order and stalked off without looking back.

Despite Sam's best death wishes, the man was still at the bar when he got back from the drink run. His expression brightened when he saw Sam retuning.

"Do I need to look more pathetic to get a drink?" he asked, somewhere between amused and earnest. "Cause I can do that."

Sam resisted the urge to grit his teeth. "Oh, I think you look pretty pathetic as it is," he lied easily, pleased when it made that smug composure falter. "Whaddaya want?"

"Whatever you drink on your nights off," the man answered without missing a beat, and Sam had never been so tempted to serve someone water in his life. He reined in the urge with a force of will and reached instead for the taps.

"Here. It's beer, mostly," he said, thunking the full glass down at the man's elbow. "Enjoy."

That grin flashed again. "Thanks, sweetheart." He took a sip, then a more enthusiastic one once he determined that Sam was not, in fact, trying to poison him or melt his throat from the inside. "Didn't expect to see a human working here," he noted conversationally, with a nod to the rest of the bar's decidedly non-human clientele. "A little far from most of the drifter colonies aren't you?"

Sam shrugged, taking a dish rag to the bar top with perhaps a little too much force. "You too."

"Yeah, but I'm only passing through." 

"Transporter?" Sam asked, and could have cursed himself for encouraging the guy.

He got an elegant shrug in response. "More or less. M'looking for someone."

"Good luck then."

"Thanks." 

The man fell silent then, seemingly content to drink his beer and stare at Sam. For his part, Sam did his best to ignore him.

His reprieve didn't last long.

"Hey," the man said when he was about halfway through his drink. "You, uh, might want to lay low for a couple of days."

Sam's lip curled. "And I bet you know just the bunk I can bed down in, huh?"

The stranger blinked, then chuckled. "Not actually what I meant," he said. "Though I wouldn't argue if you were offering."

Sam was willing to wager that his own expression aptly conveyed the likelihood of that ever happening. "What _did_ you mean, then?"

For the first time he saw the stranger hesitate, tongue darting out to run nervously across his upper lip. Then he grinned. 

"Y'gotta promise not to tell," he said, in a loud, sloppy whisper that could probably be heard in the hallway. Beer sloshed on the bar as he beckoned Sam closer. "S'a secret. C'mere."

Against his better judgment Sam leaned forward, bracing himself for another come-on as the man tilted in, mouth brushing oh so lightly against Sam's ear. When the words came, secret-soft, they were about the last thing Sam expected to hear.

"The Deamhanan are on a human hunt in this quadrant."

Message delivered, the man sat back and took another drink. Sam gaped at him, legitimately speechless. The man's grin arched. "You know," he said. "You can really work the strong, silent stereotype."

"Stuff it," Sam said automatically then, quieter, "Are you serious?"

Green eyes caught and held Sam's. "As a heart attack. They swept Stan-4-C last click and Stan-4-B not two clicks before that. Which means this place is next on the list. You here alone?"

"No," said Sam distractedly. Then, "How do you know this?"

"Cause I'm awesome that way. Oh and the name's Dean," he said, with a wink. "In case you wanted to know who to thank in your prayers tonight."

"Not really." 

The guy, Dean, grinned at him. "I like you. You sure there's no way I could convince you to tell me your name, sweetheart? Make it a fair trade?"

Sam sighed. "If I tell you, will you stop calling me sweetheart?"

Dean's smile flashed. "Only one way to find out."

Well, Hell. It wasn't like Dean couldn't learn it from a dozen different people between here and his ship. "It's Sam."

The smile slid off Dean's face like water. "Sam?" he repeated. "Sam Winchester?"

Sam stiffened. "How do you know that name?" he demanded, mentally calculating the distance to the door. His size and his training would normally give him more than enough of an advantage to get away, but there was something about the solid set of Dean's shoulders that suggested he was a lot more dangerous than he played at.

The flirty once-over Dean had given him earlier was nothing compared to the steady appraisal in his eyes now. "Well I'll be damned," Dean said at last, with a laugh that Sam couldn't read at all. "That just fucking figures."

"What does?" Sam demanded, then watched as Dean visibly shrugged himself out of whatever thought he was having and pasted on a shotgun grin that looked infinitely at home on his handsome face.

"I gotta say I wasn't expecting to find you so fast." Dean leaned back slightly in his chair, one hand pressed flat against the bar to keep him level. "Hiding in plain sight, eh Sam?"

Sam frowned at him. "I'm not hiding."

"Well you should be." He fixed Sam with a look. "Better pack your bags, kiddo. You're leaving with me even if I have to drag you out by the hair."

"What?" Sam leaned in close, fighting to keep his voice low. "Where do you get off, man? I don't even know you!"

Emotion flicked across Dean's face faster than Sam could read and melted immediately into a stony poker face that was all business. "Yeah, well, you might wanna get right the fuck off your high horse before someone shoots you in the face." Dean stabbed a hand towards the door. "That sweep? It's for you. The Deamhanan are looking for Sam fucking Winchester and he doesn't even have the good sense to be hard to find. Now you might not know me from a hole in the wall but I'm the best damn chance you have of getting off this pathetic excuse for a transport stop without getting ventilated. You get me?"

"You can't seriously expect-" 

Dean's hand flew up, cutting Sam off mid-sentence. 

Sam barely resisted the urge to throttle him. "The hell's your problem?"

"Shh, shh, wait," Dean said, head cocked to one side. Sam made an impatient noise and Dean made a face at him. "Seriously, shut up. You hear that?"

"I don't," Sam started, then paused, distracted by a faint buzzing. His eyes flicked involuntarily up, taking in the flicker of the lights with an almost abstracted sense of horror. "Oh god, you were telling the truth."

Dean was nodding, a satisfied grin spreading across his face as though there weren't fucking _Deamhanan_ in the transport stop. "So you're not completely useless. Good to know." 

"I am _not_ -"

"Shut it. Can you fight?"

Sam huffed out a breath. "I serve drinks to drunk aliens in a backwater transport stop. What do _you_ think?"

"Awesome. We're leaving _now_." Dean finished his drink with a tilt of his wrist and stood, remarkably calm considering what an absolute disaster this day was turning out to be. "You think your boss will notice if you go on break early?"

"The whole fucking bar's going to notice," Sam said, shedding his apron. "I'm the only one on shift." 

Dean opened his mouth and Sam held up a hand to forestall whatever inanity he might spout next. "I'll take care of it. Just don't - _say_ anything okay? Follow me and look like you usually look and we won't have a problem."

"Like I usually look, hmm?" Dean said with a cheeky grin, because it was apparently impossible for him not to be an ass. "How's that, devilishly handsome?"

"No." Sam rounded the bar and took a deep breath. "Smug. Come on."

He hadn't got more than three steps from the bar with Dean in tow before the shouts started, lewd suggestions and raucous wolf whistles coming from every side. Sam could almost feel the bemused curiosity leaking off Dean and made it a point not to falter or turn as he led the way to the staff teleport, teeth gritted and back ramrod straight.

"Anyone sees Garth tell him I'm taking my lunch break," he announced to the room at large and the clamor doubled, several of T'lak's hires even going so far as to stand and clap, slow and obvious.

"Geez," Dean murmured, all but inaudible in the din. "Do you ever get laid?"

Sam ignored him and punched in his code for the teleporter.

The noise of the bar fell away between one heartbeat and the next and Sam breathed a sigh of relief when the grease and the heat gave way to the slightly dingy hallway that housed the staff quarters and the ground crew access to the loading docks.

"Well," Dean said. "That was subtle. Remind me to have you plan my next surprise birthday party."

Sam scowled at him. "I didn't hear you coming up with any bright ideas."

"Well gee, Sammy, you should have told me you were actually a damsel in distress; I would've been a lot more proactive with the dramatic rescue."

"It's Sam," Sam shot back. He strode off down the hallway, not really caring whether Dean followed or not.

"Hey," Dean said sharply, voice echoing in the narrow space. "Where do you think you're going? The docking bay's the other direction."

Sam refused to be impressed by Dean's sense of direction. "So? You must be an even bigger idiot than I thought if you honestly think I'm going anywhere with you."

Behind him, he heard Dean huff. "Shoulda know you were shit at following orders."

Sam ignored that.

Heavy boots scuffed on the tiles as Dean jogged after him. "Don't tell me you're going to hide under your bed with your teddy bear or I'm going to have to revoke your man card."

"Has anyone ever told you you're a complete jackass?" Sam asked.

"It's been said." The lights flickered again, longer this time, and the exasperated look Dean shot him was faintly tinged with worry. "Seriously, Sam. Is there a reason we're heading in the wrong fucking direction? Cause getting toasted by the Deamhanan really wasn't on my list of things to do today."

Sam didn't slow. "Then go. I can handle myself."

"Look," Dean said, like he was talking to a child. "You might not be so good at listening, but try and get it through your head that I came here for _you_. Why in God's name do you think I'm just gonna fuck off and leave you to get your moronic self killed after I spent all this time looking for your sorry ass? Now," he said, in an impressively even tone of voice. "What are we doing?"

"I'm not alone," Sam admitted, after a moment. The lights flickered, at a closer interval than the last time, and Sam lengthened his stride. He was slightly irked to find Dean still keeping up just fine. "So you can take your escape plans and shove 'em up your ass; I'm not leaving without-"

"Sam!"

Sam jerked his attention away from glaring at Dean and couldn't help a relieved sigh at the sight of Jim hurrying towards him, competent and worried all at once.

"Sam!" Jim said again, catching Sam by the elbow. "The lights, Sam, have you seen the-"

"EMF reaction, I know," Sam finished, smiling faintly. "That's why I," he faltered, glanced back at Dean who was watching them with the strangest expression, "We, came to find you."

Jim looked at Dean. "And this is...?"

"Dean," Sam answered, belatedly realizing that he had nothing else to add. He turned to Dean. "Dean this is-"

"Pastor Jim," Dean said, shocking Sam completely. Dean inclined his head respectfully. "It's good to see you, sir."

"I- and you as well, son," Jim said, clearly caught just as flat-footed as Sam. "Though I haven't gone by that title in a long time."

"Not many parishioners keen on making the commute?"

"Not really, no." Jim squinted at Dean, though Sam knew his eyesight was as sharp as ever. "I'm sorry, have we met?"

Dean just smiled, as though he got asked that question a lot. "No, sir. But I believe you knew my mother once. Ellen Harvelle?"

The confusion in Jim's eyes cleared abruptly. "Ah, yes. I'd heard she'd taken in a boy After Earth. You're the pilot of the Impala, yes?"

"Yes, sir," Dean said, with what sounded like real pride. "She's a hell of a ship."

A wistful smile curved Jim's lips. "I remember. I suppose you're here for Sam, then?"

"Wait, what?" Sam rounded on Jim, hardly able to believe what he was hearing. "Jim, what the hell are you talking about?"

Jim looked evenly back at him. "The Impala's your father's ship, Sam. You should have remembered that."

"I - that's... what?!"

"I see you been raising this boy right, Pastor," Dean said, with a wry little grin. "Very articulate."

"You!" Sam shoved at Dean's chest. "You fly with my dad and you didn't think that might be something I'd want to know?"

Dean shrugged, tipping Sam the edge of a grin. "Wasn't sure it'd help my case. Way he tells it, you two didn't get on even when you were in diapers. Just seemed like a better conversation to be having aboard the Impala. Especially," he added, with a pointed glance at the stuttering lights. "Considering that we're currently in a dead-end hallway in a space station crawling with Deamhanan. Can we go?"

"He's right, Sam," said Jim. "If they find you, it's all over. You've got to get out of here."

"What, with him? How do we even know he's who he says he is?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Hey here's a crazy idea: you could ask." He held up his right hand and something glinted in the light. "Look familiar?"

Sam looked at the plain steel ring on Dean's finger, down at the steel ring on his own hand that had 'Samuel' spelled across it in clear, even letters, then back up at Dean's. "They match."

Dean's mouth quirked into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Almost." He flipped his around, showing off the ring's smooth finish. "No name on mine. But your daddy made it and it's DNA locked, same as yours. Which means there ain't no way anybody but me could have it. Now can we stop pussyfooting around and get the fuck gone, already?"

"Sam," Jim said, as sober as he always was when teaching Sam the right way to do something. "You've got to trust him."

"Only as far as I can throw him," Sam muttered, but it sounded resigned even to him. He sighed. "Fine."

Dean grinned. "Hey, with those Sasquatch arms you ought to be able to fling me pretty far." His head tilted down the hall. "Back the way we came?"

Sam nodded. "This hall leads to the loading docks. You can get to the commercial parking through there."

"Great." Dean led the way, moving with a deadly combination of grace and swiftness that was all the more intimidating for the fact that he'd drawn a wicked-looking blaster sometime when Sam hadn't been watching. Sam fell back to take the rear, pausing briefly to pull the short knife from his left boot. It wouldn't do much against the Deamhanan, he knew, but it made him feel better.

"The Impala's in docking bay eight," Dean said back over one shoulder. "My crew's pretty used to leaving on short notice so it won't take 'em to get her ready for takeoff."

"I wonder why," Sam muttered, no longer quite as surprised when Dean's only response was a wickedly amused grin. "The loading docks run alongside the commercial lots so we've only got to go down about halfway to get to dock eight."

"Good to know." 

They passed the bar teleport and Sam felt only the slightest twinge of guilt at skipping out on his shift. He'd have felt worse if he didn't suspect the bar probably wouldn't be standing for much longer. 

They'd made it another twenty yards when Dean's stride hitched. "Well shit," he said. "I should've known this was too easy."

"Dean?" Sam asked, looking from Dean's frown to the empty hallway and back again. "Something wrong?"

"This way's out," Dean said, already hustling them back the other way. "We got any other options?"

"What are you-" Sam started, then faltered as a wisp of air ghosted down the hallway, carrying with it the smell Dean had already noticed.

Death and rotting flesh. And there was only one race in the entire galaxy that smelled like that.

Behind him, Sam could hear Jim alternatively cursing and praying, fervent and low. Which was pretty much how Sam felt.

Dean was biting his lip as he glared at the floor, clearly thinking hard. "I'm guessing there's no way out back the way we came?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not," said Jim. "All the other teleports are beyond this point. The living quarters are the only thing at the other end."

"Figures. Guess we're gonna have to go back through the bar."

"They might already be there," Sam objected.

"We're gonna have to risk it. At least down there we can try and blend into the crowd. Well, as much of a crowd as there is in that dive. So," He looked up at Sam, his gaze clear and focused. "Any ideas for getting yourself out of work twice in one night?"

"I-" Sam ran a hand through his hair, mind coming up blank.

Jim's head cocked. "I can think of one option," he said, his tone and a significant glance at Dean offering all the hint Sam needed to see the obvious solution.

Sam paused. "Oh, no."

"You've got no time, Sam," Jim argued, damnably reasonable. "This will afford you enough distraction to get out."

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "Let's go."

"Don't suppose you feel like telling me your master plan there, Hannibal?" Dean asked as they moved quickly back to the teleport for the bar.

"I'm sure you'll pick it up as you go along." He flicked a glance at the blaster in Dean's hand. "Put that away," he said, sliding his knife back into his boot. "Not the kind of attention we want to attract."

"Just out of curiosity, what kind of attention _do_ we want to attract?" asked Dean, blaster fitting neatly into the holster on his thigh.

Dammit. "This kind." Sam stepped right up into Dean's space. "Don't think this means I like you," he warned.

Then he kissed him.

For a long moment, Dean resisted the press of Sam's mouth, body tense and closed off. Sam kept his movements light but firm, hands coming up automatically to frame Dean's face while his lips and tongue worked in a slow, languid coax. _Let me in._

And then, with a shuddering sigh, Dean did.

Sam fought back a shiver as Dean's tongue darted out to flicker teasingly against his before retreating, an invitation that Sam willingly took. Dean's mouth was pliant and warm as Sam swept languidly through, Dean's lips soft and surprisingly giving under Sam's. Sam pressed that advantage until Dean's mouth was slick and wet then pulled away, nipping sharply at Dean's lower lip on the way out. 

"Warn a guy next time," Dean said, his voice whisky rough and his colour high. 

"Suck it up, princess," Sam told him, mussing Dean's hair and tugging Dean's jacket half off his shoulders before stepping back to eye his handiwork. "You ready to start a bar fight?" 

The wickedness in Dean's grin looked positively obscene on his kiss-swollen lips. "I am always ready to start a bar fight." 

"Awesome. Have fun." Sam shoved Dean into the ring of the teleporter and punched in his code. "You next," he said to Jim, unbuttoning the top of his shirt and running his hands through his hair to make as much of a mess of it as possible. "Do your best to get clear before people start throwing chairs."

"Sam." Jim said and Sam froze because he _knew_ that tone of voice, just like he knew the fond, patient smile that Jim was wearing. "You really think I'm not going to do everything in my power to keep you safe?" 

"Jim," Sam started, worry and rebellion and care all tangled up together, but Jim didn't give him the space to try.

"If they follow you, you'll be trapped. I'll stay here and disable the teleporter so they can't use it." 

"But, Jim," Sam tried, just as the tromp of feet echoed down the hall. A group of mismatched figures rounded the corner towards them, the cloying smell more than enough to identify them as Deamhanan.

"No time," Jim insisted, hustling Sam onto the teleporter. "Take care of yourself, son. Good luck."

And then he punched his code and Sam couldn't do a thing to stop him.

The world blurred, shifted and reformed as Sam found himself in the bar once again. Eyes swung towards him from every corner and Sam was abruptly conscious of his deliberately rumpled appearance as he registered the hostility and dark intent on every face.

Clearly, Dean had done a bang up job of warming up the room.

"There's my boy," Dean purred, in a tone of voice that left absolutely no doubt as to what sort of claim he was laying on Sam. Sam fought the urge to stiffen. "You wanna tell 'em how it felt to have a real man to show you a good time, eh sweetheart?"

Sam let his own expression melt into a lazy smirk. "Hey, just because they wouldn't know how to use their dicks with a manual doesn't mean you should rub it in."

A patron nearby made a guttural, angry sound and fisted a handful of claws in Sam's shirt. "Little bitch!" he growled, which Sam thought was pretty laughable when he had a good three feet on the guy. "Sounds like you need to be t-ugh!"

The guy hit the floor with a bone-jarring thud, Dean standing over him with blood on his knuckles and a grin on his face. Silence reigned throughout the bar for a long, ugly moment.

And then all hell broke loose.

Sam took advantage of his greater reach to knock back the first guy who rushed him, a well-placed heel to the groin taking care of the next. After that it was nothing but ducks and punches and elbows as he fought to hold his own in the melee. A glance in Dean's direction proved him to be busting faces with an almost childlike glee, fists flying and body flowing through the chaos like water. 

Someone's fist snaked under Sam's guard and he stumbled away, putting his back to Dean's almost instinctively.

There was blue blood streaked across Dean's face when he twisted round to grin at Sam. "Nothing like a good bar fight, hey Sammy?"

"It's _Sam_ ," Sam growled and laid into the next guy who lunged at him with rather more force than was really necessary. "And you would be the type who likes bar fights."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dean demanded, knocking one guy into another and sending them both to the floor.

Sam broke someone's nose with his elbow. "Guess."

The fight was rapidly devolving into a free-for-all as people staggered into each other and the rest of the bar's rather inebriated patrons joined the fray. Sam and Dean held their ground in the middle of the chaos, protecting each other's backs, and Sam was chagrined to realize that they made a decently good team.

"Uh oh," Dean said suddenly, cartilage cracking under his hands as he snapped the wing of a very drunk Harop. "Company."

Sam glanced at the door to find a pair of Kvorki looming in it, the oily shine of their black eyes betraying the monsters lurking inside.

Dean's hand clapped on Sam's arm. "Let's go."

He ducked under a wildly swinging arm and started weaving them through the throng with Sam at his back, dodging fists and flying bodies without ever taking his eyes off the pair of Deamhanan in the door. Sam had no idea how Dean thought they were going to get past them.

Then Sam glanced down to see that Dean's blaster was back in his hand and abruptly wondered if the man was actually suicidal.

"Are you insane?" he hissed, seizing Dean by the elbow. "That won't even slow them down."

"Don't need it to." Dean shrugged his shoulders back, dislodging Sam's grip. "Watch this."

Dean straightened abruptly and fired two bolts at the Deamhanan. The shots hit them dead on, burning their clothes without harming the skin underneath. 

The one on the left glanced down absently at the hole in his shirt, scowled, and glared out across the room. 

"Nothing like being the de facto rulers of the universe to make you hate shows of resistance," Dean said smugly, ducking behind a Wrgrm as the two Deamhanan waded into the throng and started literally throwing their weight around. "Now let's get out of here before they run out of aliens to toss."

"Yeah, good ide-"

A flash caught in the corner of Sam's vision and he reacted instantly; he plowed into Dean's side, and a line of pain burned across his shoulder as he took the knife slash meant for Dean's neck. Blood gushed freely from the wound and Sam was mostly just grateful that the knife hadn't gone deep enough to hit bone.

His fist slammed into the guy's throat at the same time as Dean drove a knee into a fleshy gut and the guy collapsed like a sack of bricks, knife skittering harmlessly across the floor as he fell.

"Fuck," said Dean succinctly. "You okay?"

Sam tested his arm, finding it sore but not unbearable. "I'll live. Let's keep moving."

To his credit, Dean simply nodded and started moving again, leaving a wide buffer zone between them and the Deamhanan.

They got out the door without any more rogue knives or the notice of the Deamhanan making their lives difficult and Dean veered immediately to the right, heading for the landing bay. Sam kept his right hand pressed over his wounded shoulder, trying to staunch the bleeding.

The communicator strapped to Dean's wrist beeped and he hit a button before bringing to his mouth.

"Hi, Bobby," he said, easy as you please. "I hope you're ready for us."

"Just hurry your ass up," a gruff voice answered him. "We've got about five minutes before they lock down the whole transport."

"Got it." Dean cut off the transmission and threw a grin at Sam. "You heard the man. Move your ass!"

Sam rolled his eyes even as he lengthened his stride into a run. "You know, you're not really doing much to improve my first impression of you."

"At least I'm hot."

"And modest, clearly."

Dean grinned. "Always."

They burst through the doors of the landing bay at a dead run and immediately lunged for cover behind a slat of shipping goods when three Deamhanan opened fire at them.

"We're heading for that one," Dean shouted at Sam over the whine of blaster fire. Sam glance over to find him pointing at a black-hulled ship two berths down from their hiding place. 

"Uh huh. And we're going to get there how?"

Dean's grin flashed again and Sam wondered whether the man had any other settings besides serious and foolhardy. "Running very quickly. Try not to get shot."

"Thanks," Sam said flatly, and then they were running, bolts raining down all around them as they closed the distance to the ship's lowered ramp.

They were not quite halfway there when Dean hissed out a pained breath, his stride hitching briefly. Sam caught a glimpse of blood staining the side of Dean's shirt and then it was his turn to swear as a blaster bolt took him right through the thigh.

He staggered heavily, pain spiking in his veins, and then Dean was there, one arm wrapping around his waist to steady him.

"Go, go, go!" Dean shouted and Sam couldn't tell if he was talking to him or the communicator but he forced his rapidly stiffening leg to hold his weight, lurching the last few feet to their goal.

His vision was swimming by the time they reached the ship and Dean practically had to wrestle him inside. They collapsed into a pile as the ramp drew closed behind them, gunfire still flaring outside. Sam heard the hum of the ship's thrusters and felt the ground rolling underfoot and then the world went black.

\---

Sam came to lying on something flat and hard, staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling. His thigh was burning like a son of a bitch.

"Urgh," he managed and failed spectacularly at sitting up.

Dean's face appeared above him. "Dude, you suck," he said, cheerily. "I can't believe you got taken down by a measly little energy bolt."

"Fuck off," Sam panted at him. He shifted to take another stab at this being vertical thing and Dean's hand pressed down warningly on his hip, fingers warm against bare skin. Sam had to wonder why he was naked. 

"Hold still unless you want a really funny looking scar to show off the next time you get laid."

Sam craned his neck. "What are you doing?"

"Fixing up your sorry hide." Dean waved a regen needle at him, bending his head to the task. Sam belatedly recognized the not-quite smooth drag of the thread as it pulled and tucked his skin back into place, the wound knitting itself neatly closed with every pass of Dean's hand. "You slept right through the shoulder."

"Really?" Sam twisted his head towards the shoulder in question, only to hiss out an aggrieved breath when Dean's short nails dug into his skin.

"Sit the hell still before I knock you out again, you impatient bastard." The needle hummed and flashed in Dean's hand and Sam resigned himself to the steady pinch, pull, tug of the stitches as silence fell between them.

"There," Dean said finally. He shut the needle off and set it aside, then ducked in and snapped the thread with his teeth. Sam was just glad the wound had been on the outside of his thigh. "Good as newish. Stitches'll dissolve in an hour or two."

Dean turned to wash his hands in the sink set against the far wall and Sam pulled himself carefully upright, gritting his teeth against the momentary swirl of nausea. A glance at his leg showed that the wound was all but gone, nothing but a row of neat, even stitches and the jagged pink of new scarring to indicate that he'd taken a blaster bolt through the leg in the last click. 

"Thanks," Sam said, checking his shoulder and finding the same result. "You're good at that."

"Lots of practice." He turned and Sam flailed when he got hit in the face with a bundle of dark fabric.

"Pants," Dean told him, belated and unhelpful. "Might be a little short in the leg but they'll do until we can buy you some in giant size. Now come on."

"Wait!" Sam jerked up the pants, which hung a good inch above his ankles, and lurched after Dean's retreating back, pausing briefly to snatch the matching shirt off the counter. "You mind telling me what the hell's going on? Where am I?"

Dean tilted his head just enough to let Sam watch him roll his eyes. "I thought you were supposed to be the smart one." He gestured grandly. "Welcome to the Impala. One of the fastest ships this side of the Scarlet Nebula."

"One of?" Sam couldn't help but ask, following Dean down a broad hallway.

Dean shrugged. "I haven't seen all the ships in the galaxy, now have I?"

Sam glanced around curiously as Dean pressed his palm against a security pad and let them through a door that opened into a wide central terminal. Doors were spaced at even intervals around the circumference. 

"Where-"

"I'll give you a tour later," Dean promised, heading for the door three down from where they were standing. "Right now you've gotta meet the crew."

"What, all of them?" Sam asked, following behind as Dean led the way through the door and up a staircase.

Dean's grin flashed. "It won't take long. Trust me." He veered right at the top of the stairs and Sam made to follow him, only to bowl right into something low and solid that nearly knocked him back down the stairs.

Somewhere to the side, he heard Dean sigh. "Way to make a good first impression, Sam."

"Wha-?" Sam blinked down at whatever he'd hit and then blinked again when he realized that a bearded, mottled face was glaring back up at him.

"Sam, Bobby," said Dean, sounding amused again. The bastard. "Bobby's a Venator, in case you were wondering. Worked with your dad on Earth for a couple years. He's our resident weapons master and disgruntled mother figure."

"You shut your mouth, boy," Bobby growled, not as rough as Sam would have expected. "Or I'll put you over my lap."

"Kinky," Dean deadpanned, and dodged when Bobby mimed a swing at him. "Bobby, this is-"

"I know who he is." Bobby turned his attention back to Sam with an intensity that made Sam want to fidget. "It's good to see you, Sam," he said finally and the smile on his face made him look startlingly different. 

"Um," said Sam, most of his attention caught by Bobby's multiple sets of arms and the strange rounded... _somethings_ he had instead of legs.

Bobby didn't appear put out by Sam's lack of tact. "You probably don't remember me, seeing as you were just a kid when last I saw you, but I'm glad Dean found you. Your daddy would have been proud to see you."

"Thanks," said Sam, mind dredging up vague half-memories of a gruff face working alongside his father back on Earth. He paused. "What do you mean, would have?"

Bobby threw a sharp glance at Dean. "You didn't tell him?"

"We were kind of busy," Dean defended. "Not to mention that he's been unconscious for the last tenth of a click."

"Where is he?" Sam asked, though he had a sinking feeling he already knew. "This is his ship, right?"

Dean sighed. "He died," he answered, an edge of real grief shading the words. "About ten years ago. Burned the body myself."

"He-" Sam swallowed around the lump in his throat. "But I thought you said you were just the pilot."

"Yeah well," Dean's shrug was far too rigid to be convincing. "Captain's not a job I'm really itching to step into." He coughed, shrugging his attitude back into place. "Come on, let's go introduce you to Cas."

Bobby fell in with them as they headed for the door at the end of the short hallway, rolling along without giving any sense of how he was propelling himself forward. Sam had to remind himself that it was rude to stare.

The door whooshed open on an impressive looking bridge, the control consoles dated but obviously well cared for. The vastness of space stretched out beyond the windscreens in a way that Sam was never going to get used to and standing in front of the navigation board, his back turned towards them, was-

"An Ange," Sam breathed, more than stunned. The Ange turned at his words, its long, glittering wings dragging across the console and the crystal chips of its eyes glinting a brilliant tanzanite blue.

Dean rolled his eyes. "That's Castiel. Cas, this is Sam Winchester."

"A pleasure," Castiel said, the words oddly stilted like he wasn't sure they were the right ones to be using. "I have heard much of you."

"Thanks?" Sam tried, still having trouble wrapping his head around this. "You're an Ange," he said, a little helplessly.

Castiel nodded. "That is correct."

"But- I thought Anges only trusted each other."

Castiel nodded again. "Usually. My situation is more... complicated. I have been a member of the Impala's crew for some time."

"He's our navigation guy," Dean interjected, like there wasn't anything unusual about having a fucking Ange on his payroll.

Sam shook his head "I can't believe a member of the Intergalactic Police race is your 'navigation guy'."

Dean snorted. "Intergalactic police, my ass. More like intergalactic vigilantes with a god complex. Fucking douchebags, the lot of 'em." Dean jerked a thumb over his shoulder at Castiel. "He's not so bad though."

"Thank you, Dean," Castiel said, his tone so dry that Sam honestly couldn't tell whether he was being sarcastic or not.

"Right," said Dean. "Grand tour, food, bed. What order do you want 'em in?"

"What about the rest of the crew?" Sam wanted to know.

The question made Dean grin, like he'd been anticipating it. "We're it. Told you it wouldn't take long."

Sam blinked at him. "Just the three of you? On a ship this size?"

Dean winked at him. "We're just that good. So. Back to the tour, food, bed issue."

"Actually," said Sam, despite the fact that food and sleep sounded very tempting right about now. "First I'd like you to tell me what I'm doing here."

Dean leaned back against the console, crossing his legs at the ankles. "Well first, you're avoiding being turned into a Deamhan's meat suit. And second, you're gonna help us start a revolution."

Sam sincerely hoped he was hearing things. "I'm going to what?"

"Start a revolution."

"Right. And how am I going to do that?"

"By helping us find the Titan."

Sam stared at him. "The what?"

"Seriously?" Dean sighed. "Pain in my ass." His shoulders squared. "Right. Do you know why the Deamhanan destroyed the Earth?"

"Because that's what they do?" Sam hazarded, which was true.

Dean's hand waved dismissively. "More specific than that. Why did they target _Earth_?"

"I..." Sam frowned. "I don't know. There's an actual reason?"

"Yeah," Dean said and took a breath. "They attacked Earth because your dad invented something. A weapon. One that could kill Deamhanan."

"What?!" Sam gaped at him. "That's not possible. You can't kill the Deamhanan, they're..."

"Inhabiting the bodies of the dead, I know. Don't ask me to explain how it works, cause I don't know. Your dad was the genius, not me. But it's legit."

Sam slumped back against the wall, trying to process what Dean was telling him. "The Deamhanan can be killed," he said, almost a question.

Dean nodded. "Sure looks that way. They were scared enough to blow up the whole damn planet just to get to your dad and that was the better part of a billion people they vaporized. The Deamhanan wouldn't waste that many potential vessels without a damn good reason. And that's not even counting the money they could have earned by selling off the Earth's resources."

"But," Sam objected. "Dad escaped the explosion. If he had this super weapon, why are the Deamhanan still running the show? Why aren't we fighting back?"

Bobby answered that one. "Because John was more interested in getting the hell out of Dodge and hiding the weapon somewhere the Deamhanan couldn't find it than starting a revolution all by his damn self. He wanted to make sure that, when the time did come when the universe was ready to fight back, his weapon would be there, ready and waiting."

"And that's now?"

Dean nodded. "It's about to be. Your dad spent more than a decade laying the groundwork: gaining contacts, making alliances. Now all we need is the weapon. Which is on a ship called the Titan." His eyes were serious as he held Sam's gaze. "A ship that we need your help to find."

"Me?" Sam echoed. "Why? I haven't seen my dad in seventeen _years_. What the hell could you possibly need from me?"

"You wanna field this one, Cas?" asked Dean and Sam lurched back violently when Castiel was suddenly right up in his personal space, close enough that Sam could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

"When John Winchester hid the Titan he took with him no crew and left only one record of its whereabouts," Castiel explained, apparently completely unbothered by the closeness. "May I see your right hand?"

"Um," said Sam, which Castiel apparently took as permission because Sam immediately found himself holding hands with an Ange, Castiel's hair tickling his chin.

"Your ring," Castiel said, turning Sam's hand from side to side. "Is capable of sending a reciprocal pulse designed to replicate and isolate the unique energy signature of the Titan."

"Basically a Titan-seeking GPS," said Dean. "Once Cas activates it, we'll be able to find the Titan anywhere in the universe."

"Couldn't I just give you the ring then?" Sam wanted to know, trying to edge back from Castiel without making it look like he was doing so.

He obviously didn't do a very good job because it made Bobby snort at him. "Better get used to that," he said wryly. "Anges don't have personal boundaries."

Castiel looked up and nearly hit Sam in the nose. "Am I being inappropriate? I apologize."

"No problem," Sam managed, breathing a quiet sigh as Castiel dropped his hand and stepped back a much-appreciated few feet.

Dean looked he was trying not to laugh at him. "I can tell you're a real tough guy," he grinned. Sam scowled at him. "And a good sport, clearly. As far as your question goes," he continued, and it took Sam a moment to remember what he'd asked. "The answer's yes and no. Yeah, once the ring's activated it'll work even if you're not wearing it, but we won't be able to focus it as precisely. And that's not the only reason we need you."

"There's more?" demanded Sam, already heartily sick of this entire mess. "Don't tell me he expected me to fight in this revolution of yours too."

"Nah," Dean said dismissively. "Doesn't seem like your kind of thing."

"Then what?"

"When he hid the Titan, your dad locked the whole ship into his own genetic code so that if anyone found it who wasn't supposed to, they wouldn't be able to get in." 

"And now he's dead so you need me," Sam said flatly.

Dean's smile was strange. "You do share his DNA, Sammy."

"I told you not to call me-"

Klaxons blared, echoing across the bridge, and Dean blurred into motion, practically vaulting over the railing onto to the upper deck. "Cas!" he bellowed.

"A moment." Castiel was hunched in front of one of the central computer towers in an instant, eyes blank as information scrolled down the holofeed faster than Sam could follow.

"Dean?" Sam asked, looking past the wide drape of Castiel's wings to see Dean sliding into the pilot's chair, a quick pass of his hand bringing the control board to instant, glowing life.

"Not now, Sam. Cas!"

"Telacorax," Castiel told him, which apparently meant something to Dean because he immediately entered a string of numbers as long as Sam's arm into the guidance system.

"Telecorax?" Sam shifted to stand behind Dean, reading the code sprawled across Dean's nav screen. "It's a... star?"

"Planet," Dean corrected, punching in the last number and shifting his attention seamlessly to the engine system. His hands danced across the controls like he'd been born in the pilot's chair, flicking switches and charting routes with a smooth facility that Sam couldn't help but be impressed by. "About two and a half clicks from here. Easiest to chart to the nearest star. I'll narrow the parameters when we're closer." 

"Closer to what? What's on Telecorax?"

"Distress call."

"From who?"

"Someone who needs help," Dean answered, brusque and completely unhelpful.

Sam stared at him. "What about all that stuff about the Titan? Defeating the Deamhanan, saving the galaxy?"

"Don't worry Sammy, we'll get to it. But rescuing people comes first. Cas?" he called over his shoulder. "Any more info on that distress call?"

"It's coming from Verron," Castiel told him, not looking away from the screen in front of him. Sam couldn't tell whether he was reading it or having a staring contest with it. "A township in the lower northeast quadrant. The citizens appear to be under attack from a nest of rogue Cruorvores."

Dean whooped, a delighted grin splitting his face. "Fuck yeah! We haven't hunted vamps in ages!"

"Vamps?" Sam asked and wasn't quite prepared for the force of that bright grin turning his way.

"Cruorvores," Dean said. "Blood eaters. I mean, they rip their victims' heads and limbs off instead of puncturing their necks but still. Alien vampires. How cool is that?"

"And you're going to...hunt them?" Sam hazarded.

Dean's smile actually widened. "That's what we do - saving people and hunting the evil alien fuglies. We're like the intergalactic cavalry."

"Oh," said Sam, not sure what to say to that.

Somewhere behind him he heard Bobby sigh. "I suppose now you'll need me to get the kid settled?" he said to Dean.

"That'd be great, thanks," said Dean, before Sam could protest being called a kid. "Wouldn't want to run into a planet on the way out of the quadrant."

"No," said Bobby wryly. "We certainly wouldn't want that. Come on, Sam," he said then,. "Let's get you fed and then I think you'll be just about ready to collapse."

On any other click, Sam would have argued against the coddling, but he could feel the fatigue lingering at the back of his head, the aches left over from his freshly healed wounds.

"Yeah," he said. "That sounds good. Thanks, Bobby."

"Don't mention it," Bobby told him, rolling away as Sam fell in beside him. "Good to have you aboard."

Sam wasn't sure he agreed.

\---

Despite a lifetime of living like a galactic vagabond, Sam hadn't really spent a lot of time aboard spaceships. So the two and a half clicks it took them to reach Telecorax were, for him, something of a novelty.

Bobby gave him a perfunctory tour (mess hall through there, armory on your left, don't touch that) before turning him loose, polite but not particularly concerned about drawing Sam into awkward conversations. Sam found himself feeling profoundly grateful for that.

Castiel added him to the security grid early on, which meant that Sam could get into pretty much any door on the ship. It got him lost more than once, but it wasn't as though he had anything better to do and he liked the idea of becoming familiar with this ship that had once been his dad's. 

The Impala was a decently sized ship ( _bigger than the Millennium Falcon but smaller than the Enterprise_ , Dean had grinned at him), and meticulously maintained down to the last switch and bolt. Most of the control boards looked to be nearly as old as Sam was and he had to wonder if it had been built on Earth or if his dad had commissioned it after fleeing to space to make up for the home he couldn't return to.

Sam had his own room, small but serviceable, with honest to god bed sheets and a bookshelf full of actual paper books, well-thumbed and yellow with age. They were nearly all fiction, everything from Treasure Island to Slaughterhouse Five, and Sam hoped that he'd have the time to read at least some of them before this mad adventure ended ( _Go right ahead_ , Bobby had told him. _Be good to see someone reading 'em again_ ).

There was a library on board as well, most of the material organized onto holopads and apparently devoted to research on alien cultures, planets and customs. ( _It is a utile collection_ , Castiel had explained to him, sober and unblinking. _The holopads allow for the translation of nearly all foreign languages into Common. Dean and Bobby approve of being well-informed of the various species we interact with_ ).

For the most part, the Impala's crew seemed to have decided that Sam was old enough to entertain himself and didn't go out of their way to break their normal routines. He saw little of Castiel and Bobby and even less of Dean who seemed to be practically glued to the pilot's chair. Which Sam found a little surprising given Dean's over-the-top flirting in the bar, but he decided it was probably better that way. The less time he spent with Dean and his charming, devil-may-care attitude, the less he'd have to remind himself that Dean was a hassle he didn't need. 

Which worked pretty well up until the point where Sam came up to the bridge two and a half clicks after they'd left Stan-4-D to find Telecorax looming beyond the viewport and the pilot's chair unexpectedly empty. 

"He's in his quarters," Bobby told him, all of his arms busy dealing with something at one of the far consoles. "Go tell him to get his ass up here and fly this old bird planetside. Cas' got the coordinates for him."

"But-" Sam tried, and quailed under the narrow-eyed look he earned for the attempt.

"I don't want to hear any 'buts' from you, Sam Winchester," Bobby said, in a tone that made Sam want to apologize and check for mud on his pants. "You're part of this crew for as long as you're on this ship. Now go. Get. Dean."

Sam held up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I'm going."

"Fucking idjits," he thought he heard Bobby mutter as he clomped down the stairs.

Dean's quarters were only a short walk down the hall from Sam's. There was no answer when Sam rapped lightly on the door so he pressed his hand against the security pad and was surprised when it opened obediently to his touch. He hadn't expected his security clearance to extend to other people's bedrooms.

"Dean?" he called, stepping into the room. "Bobby sent me to tell yo-oh, gods, I'm so sorry." 

"Dude," said the very wet, very naked Dean standing in the middle of the room. "Were you raised by barn animals or something? Shut the damn door already." 

"I- did you want, I can..." Sam didn't think he'd stammered this badly since his voice broke.

Dean rolled his eyes and continued drying off his damp hair. "Jesus, Sam, s'not like you've never seen a dick before. Or do you close your eyes when you piss?" He waved a careless hand. "Come in if you're coming."

Sam did as he was told, eyes skittering around the room to find something safer to fix on than the acres of pale, scar-crossed skin that Dean was negligently toweling off.

That made Dean laugh. "You're like a blushing bride there, Sammy." He made an obscene grab towards his crotch. "All this manhood giving you the vapors?"

"I'm trying not to go blind from the glare off your pearly white ass," Sam snapped back, shoving his embarrassment aside. 

Dean's grin flashed. "Atta boy. Gotta give as good as you get around here." Flagrantly careless of his own nudity, Dean dropped the towel and dug into his closet, offering Sam a particularly good view of the aforementioned ass. "What's Bobby want?"

Sam wasn't staring. He wasn't. "We've reached Telecorax. Castiel's got the exact coordinates for you to bring us in."

"Great." Dean reemerged with an armful of clean clothes and tossed Sam a wink as he started pulling on his form-hugging pants without the slightest regard for either dignity or underwear. An oddly shaped pendant thumped against his chest when he straightened and Sam cocked his head at it, curious.

"What's that?" he asked, stepping closer to get a better look. It shaped like a horned head and was, Sam thought, sort of grotesque.

Dean glanced down at his own chest like he'd forgotten the pendant was even there. "It's a necklace."

Sam gave in to the urge to roll his eyes. "I can see that. Where in the galaxy did you get it?"

"Earth actually." Dean yanked on his shirt with brusque movements, the ugly little head vanishing beneath the fabric. "Why?" he asked, strapping on his thigh holster and sliding his blaster home. "Don't you like it?"

"It's hideous," Sam answered honestly and startled a surprised laugh out of Dean.

"Yeah well," he grinned, strapping a knife to his arm and settling a second holster into the small of his back. "It was a gift from my kid brother and no one ever accused him of having good taste."

"You have a brother?" Sam asked, surprised.

Dean's expression shuttered. "Not anymore."

"Oh," said Sam. "I'm sor-"

"It's fine," Dean cut him off. "It was a long time ago." He plucked a second blaster out from under his pillow and slid it smoothly into the back holster with an ease that spoke of long practice. "Let's go," he said, shoving his feet into his boots. He snagged his jacket off a peg on the way out the door. "Bobby doesn't like to be kept waiting."

Sam followed Dean's heavy steps out of the room and towards the bridge. "I'm still sorry," he ventured finally. "It's not easy to lose people."

Dean shrugged, the tension in his shoulders belying the calm. "Everyone lost people in the evacuation."

"Jim said you got adopted After Earth," Sam said and was surprised when Dean nodded.

"Ellen. She has a daughter about your age, so I even got a little sister into the bargain. Not that I saw either of 'em much," he added, with a nod around the corridor. "Seeing as I pretty much grew up here."

"Don't you get homesick?"

Dean snorted. "Need a home for that. The Impala's all I need."

"What was your name?" Sam asked impulsively. "Back on Earth."

"Dean," Dean answered, short and dismissive. The door to the bridge loomed large before them and Dean didn't bother meeting Sam's eyes as he angled towards it. "Now enough of this maudlin crap. Let's go kill us some vampires."

\---

As it turned out, Cruorvores were very little like vampires. 

They were about ten feet tall to start with, and considerably more insectile than Sam really thought any self-respecting vampires would have been. To make matters worse, they were also damnably fast and had a centipede's worth of long, prehensile legs that let them scale trees, walls and buildings with equal facility. Add that to the fact that Verron was surrounded by a dense carbon forest and you had a death trap just waiting to happen.

A handful of the local men insisted on joining their hunt despite Dean declaring, loudly and at length, that he _really_ didn't need their help. And Sam would have found that uncharitable to say the least were it not for the fact that Dean couldn't have been more right: two of the villagers were dead before they'd gone more than a hundred paces beyond the village wall while the rest seemed far better suited to panicking than fighting. 

Although, Sam couldn't exactly blame them; it took him a considerable amount of effort not to vomit the first time he saw a Cruorvore drop down from the trees, literally tear a man limb from limb and let the twitching appendages fall to the ground while it feasted on the blood pouring from the ragged wounds. It hadn't been a pleasant experience.

Luckily, the crew of the Impala was clearly much better at this than the locals. Castiel attacked from the sky, his wings glittering in the faded light and the silver stinger in his hand wielded with expert precision. Bobby hoisted a blaster in every hand, his strange legs not slowing him down in the slightest as he picked off lunging Cruorvores and protected the surviving villagers with grim-faced competency.

And Dean? Well Dean charged right into the thick of the swarm like he was invincible, laughter in his voice as he warned Sam to stay close. He threw himself into the fight with a fierce exhilaration that Sam couldn't even begin to understand, untamed and devastating. The smile in his eyes each time they brought down a Cruorvore was infectious in its enthusiasm. Sam found himself glad of Jim's training as he bolted through the trees at Dean's side, his blaster hot in his hand and his senses primed for the fight.

It wasn't long before Sam realized that the brawl in the bar hadn't been a fluke; he and Dean really did make one hell of a team. They read each other's movements with an effortless ease, their fighting styles blending perfectly. Sam found himself reacting to Dean's actions like he'd been doing it all his life, some bone-deep awareness of the other man making his instincts crisper, swifter. 

Which is why, when Dean reached too late for his knife after his blaster got sliced nearly in half by a razor-sharp foreleg, Sam was already there, shoving Dean out of the way and putting a blaster bolt straight through the Cruorvore's gruesome face mid-tumble.

"Nice moves, Sam," Dean complimented, launching himself at the next opponent with his blade singing in the dark.

Sam grunted, rolling out of the way of another Cruorvore and coming to his feet just in time to watch blood spray across the ground from the deep slash Dean had gouged in the thing's neck. 

"You know," Sam panted, blasting another one before it could drop on them from above. "Your other blaster might be more useful than the knife."

"Nope," said Dean, finishing off the one he'd wounded with a ruthless stab to the abdomen. "That one's only for emergencies."

"And this doesn't count?"

Dean's grin flashed in the dark. "Not even close. Duck!"

And so it went, until Sam was cut and bruised and his limbs were aching from running and fighting and rolling on the ground and there was enough Cruorvore blood in his hair that it would probably never come out. Finally, nothing stepped in to take the place of their most recent kill and Sam allowed himself a sigh of relief.

Dean turned to him with a wide grin. "Dude, we are so awesome."

"Looks like it," Sam agreed, and was surprised to find he meant it. He unpeeled his fingers from around his blaster and shook out his hand. "You do this for a living?"

"You're totally jealous, aren't you?"

"I'm thinking you're insane."

Dean laughed. "Probably. But at least it's good fun."

All Sam could do was shake his head as they waited for Castiel and Bobby to catch up, impressed despite himself.

He was rather less impressed when he caught Dean taking money from the village leader in return for the work they'd done. Bobby wrestled him aside before he go make a scene.

"How else did you think we could afford to jet around the damn galaxy?" Bobby demanded, in a tone of voice that suggested he thought Sam was being an utter moron. "If we have to take rewards from folks now to let us save more folks in the future, then that's what we damn well do."

"Sorry, Bobby," Sam said, abashed. 

Bobby nodded. "Let that be the end of it. Now come on. Let's get back to the Impala before that lot decide to keep the idiot."

A glance over at Dean revealed him to be surrounded by a crowd of yellow-skinned, multi-armed women. Judging from the smarmy grin on his face, Dean found this a more than acceptable state of affairs.

Bobby sighed in a very unsurprised fashion and tilted his head at Castiel. "You want to take care of that?"

Castiel nodded. "Very well." He spread his wings and launched himself into the air with a single, powerful thrust that nearly knocked Sam on his ass. Castiel swooped down on Dean, seized him by the armpits and glided back to them, Dean swearing at him the entire way.

"God dammit, Cas!" he growled as Castiel set him back on his feet. "I've told you not to do that!"

"Perhaps you should consider listening to Bobby in the future, then," Castiel answered, unperturbed.

Dean stared at him. "I hate it when you're reasonable."

"My apologies."

Bobby cleared his throat. "If you ladies are quite done?"

"Now that you've spoiled my fun," Dean grumbled, straightening his jacket.

Sam arched an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you were seriously considering that."

Dean waved him off. "If I stuck to humans I'd never get laid." His grin flashed. "And then I'd be as cranky as you are."

"Oh, screw you."

"No thanks," answered Dean, breezy and unconcerned. "You're not my type."

Sam's eyes narrowed. The _oh, really?_ hung unspoken in the air between them.

Dean ignored the hole Sam was trying to burn into the back of his head as they made their way back to the Impala, obviously having decided that if he refused to acknowledge him then Sam would eventually give up. Sam thought that Dean didn't understand him very well.

They were safely out into open space when Dean finally dropped the invisible-Sam act.

"Right," he said, turning away from the controls with a manic grin. "How about we find out where we're going. Cas?"

Castiel nodded and Sam found his personal space invaded yet again, Castiel dragging him over to the navigation console with the same effortless strength with which he'd plucked Dean off the ground back on Telacorax.

"Hold still," Castiel said, left hand tightening on Sam's hand while the other fiddled with the controls behind him. 

A white-hot burst of pain zinged down Sam's arm and he yelped, Castiel's iron grip on his wrist the only thing keeping him from lurching away. The heat faded as quickly as it had come, leaving Sam's hand tingling and a multi-dimensional star chart rotating slowly in the ship's holofeed.

Dean leaned in over Sam's shoulder and Sam started. He hadn't even heard him approach. "That's the Andali Nebula," Dean said, eyeing the star chart.

"Which is halfway across the galaxy," Bobby said. "It'll take us at least eight clicks to get there."

"So we'll make a couple pit stops. S'never killed us before." Dean leaned in further, expression intent. "Any idea of where in the Nebula we're going?"

Castiel clucked his tongue thoughtfully, then twisted to look at Sam, nearly clocking Dean with his wing in the process. "Can you narrow the field of vision?"

"Me?" Sam asked. "I don't even know how-"

He cut himself off as the map shifted, zooming in closer. "Huh. Did I do that?"

"It's connected to you as long as you're wearing the ring," Castiel explained absently, eyes faraway. "These coordinates suggest that the Titan is somewhere in the ice rings of Tegrin." 

Bobby made a thoughtful sound. "Good place to hide something."

"And inhospitable enough that no one's going to go poking around," Dean agreed. "Alright then. Let's get the show on the road."

He turned back to the console, already plotting in a course. Castiel released Sam's hand and, with nothing better to do now that his part was done, Sam went to take a shower. He needed to wash his hair. A lot.

\---

Most of the time, Sam didn't have much trouble functioning on the standard click system. He vaguely recalled a time when there'd only been 24 hours in a day, when the rising and setting of the sun had accorded day and night, but he was far more accustomed to counting by clicks - 46 Earth hours apiece. There was no day or night in space, after all, and Jim had never stayed long enough on any alien planet for Sam to get used to a solar-based calendar.

Of course, thanks to a life structured by training, studying and a continuous slew of crappy jobs, he'd never quite realized just how long a click could be when you didn't have anything to do but wait. It hadn't really been an issue on the way to Telacorax; he'd had sleep to catch up on, a ship to explore and the novelty of an entire library's worth of research to keep himself entertained. He quickly discovered, however, that longer trips weren't nearly so easy to fill.

After three and a half clicks of reading and sleeping and reading some more, Sam was officially bored out of his mind. He'd gravitated to the library, as usual, but it was hard to concentrate when he'd been doing the same research for the last three clicks. He tapped idly through the holo pad he'd been working on - Vermacorin's _Treatise on Aakrykyo Mind Trading_ \- and wondered how anyone could survive traveling through space without going absolutely mad.

The hiss of hydraulics was a welcome distraction from his inability to give a damn and Sam glanced up to find Dean's familiar bulk filling the doorway.

"Dean?" he asked, surprised. He'd actually been starting to wonder whether Dean even knew where the library was. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for your bored ass," Dean answered, as though it was obvious. He beckoned, an impatient gesture. "I can feel you twitching on the other side of the ship. Move it."

Sam made an impatient sound that was completely undermined by the way he was getting up without even bothering to mark his place in the holo pad. "Where are we going?" he asked. "Planning on throwing me out the airlock?"

"Only if you piss me off." Dean made a hard left out the door and Sam trailed after him, their footfalls ringing in discordant off-tones with each other. "Which is always a distinct possibility."

Dean led them through another door and ducked down a hallway and Sam realized he knew where they were going.

He glanced at Dean. "The training room?"

"Yep. Nice to see that big brain at work there, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Why are we going to the training room?"

"To work off some of that energy of yours before you shake yourself to pieces." Dean paused at the door and his mouth curled in blatant challenge. "Unless you're scared of getting your ass handed to you."

"Oh screw you," Sam said and pushed a laughing Dean through the door and into the room. "I'll kick your ass."

"Come on then," Dean said, stripping off his boots, socks, holsters and jacket and leaving himself in skintight black fabric. He left everything in a pile near the door and stepped onto the thick padded mat that took up most of the floor. "Show me what you've got."

"You don't want to warm up first?" Sam asked, dropping his own overclothes next to Dean's. He rolled his shoulders back, loosening up his spine.

"Hey," Dean grinned, "You can't keep up, that's your problem."

Sam narrowed his eyes and lashed forwards, driving a fist at Dean's gut.

Dean danced aside with a laugh. "Too slow, Sammy!" he crowed, countering with an elbow towards Sam's face. Sam ducked, feeling his muscles stretch looser as he used his longer reach to drive Dean back, pressing whatever advantage he could get.

Which, he quickly discovered, wasn't a whole lot. Dean didn't even bother avoiding Sam's lunge, just snaked in under his reach and drove in hard. Sam's back hit the mat with enough force that he bounced, breath knocked out in a rush.

"Dude, that was pathetic." Dean grinned at him, exultant and fierce like he'd been on Telacorax. "Again."

Sam ended up on the floor three more times in rapid succession before he started getting into the swing of the match. He'd grown up sparring with Jim, learning the limits of his body and how to use it, but Dean was at another level altogether. Where Jim had been the polished finish of formal training, Dean was the rough edges and instinct of years of experience, all wrapped around a core of fierce textbook precision. He goaded Sam with his every move, always a step ahead, and he moved like... Sam didn't know. Like steel maybe, all careful control and deadly grace: a blade wielded in the hand of a master.

He was also a fucking dirty fighter, which didn't surprise Sam in the slightest.

"Come on, Sam!" Dean taunted, panting lightly as Sam veered out of the way of a perfectly executed roundhouse kick. "Dodging's only half the game. Hit me already!"

"Do you ever shut up?" Sam growled, forcing Dean back with a flurry of punches. Dean gave ground easily, that smug grin still on his face, and Sam drove a knee at his gut, breaking their forward momentum. Dean blocked it easily but Sam was already countering, other leg clamping round Dean's waist to give Sam enough leverage to brace his hands on Dean's shoulders and shift forward, stacking all his weight onto Dean.

Dean bucked instinctively, fists driving at Sam's unprotected torso. Sam twisted sharply to the side, hooking his other ankle around Dean's thigh and driving down hard, throwing them both off balance for that single, crucial moment.

They hit the mat hard, Dean sprawled breathless on his back with Sam's weight across his thighs and Sam's right hand pinning both of Dean's to the mat. Dean's eyes were wide and endlessly green from this close and Sam was suddenly terribly aware of the heat of Dean's body, the faint sheen of sweat in the hollow of his throat. Dean was one long, lean stretch of muscle from wrists to waist, his chest brushing Sam's with every rapid intake of breath. 

Dean looked like he'd turned to stone, eyes trained on Sam's face and his body lax in Sam's hold despite the tension Sam could feel thrumming through his limbs.

It wasn't with any conscious thought that Sam tilted his head closer, watching as Dean's gaze jumped immediately to his mouth. 

"Dean," he murmured, not sure he really wanted to start this but just as certain that he wasn't going to be the one to stop. 

Dean drew in a shuddering breath. "Let me up," he said, his voice rough. " _Now_ , Sam."

The _make me_ was on the tip of his tongue - how did Dean always bring out the worst in him? - but Sam bit back the impulse and shifted back, on guard as he released Dean from his hold.

Dean sat up smoothly, not even flinching as he sat up though Sam knew his ribs had to be killing him. His wrists would probably bruise. 

"Not bad," Dean said eventually, overly casual. "Your follow through still sucks but maybe you're not a total loss after all."

Sam rolled his eyes. "I'm so glad you approve," he said, tamping down the impulse to call Dean on his bullshit. "Do you need everyone on your crew to be a better fighter than you are?"

Dean shoved him. "Fucker. I was going easy on you."

"Really?" Sam asked, climbing to his feet without offering Dean a hand up. He knew how well that would go. "Doesn't look like it to me. Getting worn out in your old age?"

"You're not nearly as funny as you think you are." Dean stood up without trying to wrestle Sam down to the mat in the process and Sam relaxed slightly.

"Neither are you," he said, keeping out of range just in case.

"Bullshit, I'm adorable." Dean threw an assessing glance over him. "You good?"

Sam considered. "Yeah actually." He shrugged, a little sheepish. "Guess it was good to get some exercise after all."

"That's what you get for hunching over a bunch of books all day," Dean said, only it sounded more like _I'm glad_ than anything. Sam wondered which of them Dean was trying to fool. "Better watch it or your perky ass is going to get flat from all the sitting."

Which sounded a lot like flirting if you asked Sam and he was getting tired of trying to navigate Dean's hangups. "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Back on Stan-4-D, why didn't you kiss me back?"

"Hmm?" Dean responded, with a convincing display of absent confusion. A few clicks ago, Sam thought, it probably would have fooled him. "What's that, Sam?"

Sam didn't want to give Dean the leisure of pretending this time. "When I kissed you at the teleporter, you didn't kiss me back. Not really. I want to know why."

"You criticizing my game? I think I'm insulted." Dean turned towards the door, waving a careless hand Sam's way. "Also, busy, since I interrupted my schedule to deal with your emo ass. Go bother someone else."

"Come off it, Dean," Sam insisted, striding right up into Dean's space and looming at his back. "I know what a proper kiss feels like. That wasn't it." 

"Well maybe I'm not into you."

Sam scoffed. "You really expect me to believe that after the way you were acting in the bar? You couldn't have been more obvious if you'd asked me to bend over."

"Gee, Sam," Dean ground out, rounding on him with a look that could have flayed flesh from bones. "Maybe because you'd made it perfectly clear that _you_ didn't want to be kissing _me_ , ever think about that?"

"Doesn't mean that you wouldn't have taken the opportunity to prove me wrong," Sam retorted. "I know you better than that."

"Do you now?" Dean said, with a smile that didn't tell Sam anything at all. "I don't need things getting complicated," he admitted after a moment, obviously choosing his words carefully. "A quick screw in a transport stop's not the same thing as bringing someone on board _my_ ship and having to live with them for clicks on end."

"I don't believe you," said Sam immediately.

"Well that's tough," Dean shot back. "Cause that's all I got."

"Dean." Sam let the frustration drop and showed Dean a glimpse of the confusion and threatening hurt underneath. "Seriously. Why?"

Dean sighed. "Because you're Sam Winchester," he said, after a pause so lengthy that Sam hadn't thought he was going to respond at all.

"That's not a reason."

The look Dean gave him was heavy with a hundred things that Sam couldn't understand. "It is for me." He turned away again, hands clenching tight. "Leave it, Sam. I've got work to do."

Sam lingered for a moment, unsure. Dean didn't so much as twitch in his direction and Sam eventually sighed and stepped away. "Fine. Later, Dean."

Dean strode out of the room without looking back and Sam stood there for a long time, wondering how one man could affect him so much.

\---

That night, Sam had a wet dream that involved him tying Dean to his bed and fucking him until he _screamed_. He woke up with his chest heaving and his cock achingly hard, the real life memory of Dean's body warm and solid under him in the practice room converging with the dream image of Dean writhing and desperate on the end of Sam's cock in a way that left no possible confusion in Sam's mind as to what he wanted to do with Dean fucking Harvelle.

Son of a bitch.

\----

Sam did his level best to avoid Dean after that. He dove into the bookshelf in his room with single-minded intensity, starting on the top shelf and working his way steadily down. He worked out by himself in the training room, pushing himself to the brink of exhaustion again and again so he'd be tired enough not to wake up from his dreams. He spent hours in the library learning everything he could about the Deamhanan and then, when he'd exhausted even the Impala's extensive resources about them, he read books about whatever else caught his fancy. He wandered the halls in the quiet hours that counted as nighttime and watched stars and space dust ghost past the ship, thinking that he'd probably never have seen anything like it if the Deamhanan hadn't destroyed the Earth. He wasn't sure if that made him feel better or worse.

It was easier to keep out of Dean's way than he'd expected given the size of the ship, which led him to think that Dean was probably avoiding him too. Which wasn't really surprising, when Sam thought about it. He figured Dean was probably the type who could hold a grudge forever, mostly because he refused to talk about anything even vaguely important. And Sam wasn't really minded to try and make him spill whatever secrets he was hiding, not when all would get him was more of Dean's resolute stonewalling.

Which didn't stop him from pausing on the landing beneath the bridge when he heard Bobby and Dean arguing late on the fifth click, but Sam wasn't an idiot. If this was the only way he could get some information, then so be it.

"Dean," Bobby's voice was saying, tinny and serious. "You've got to tell him."

"Now that's where you're wrong," Dean's voice answered. "I don't have to tell anyone anything. Especially not Sam."

Sam hunched lower, any vague thought he might have had of sneaking away completely forgotten.

"Oh come off it, boy," Bobby growled. "He deserves to know the truth."

Dean's laugh was unpleasant to hear. "Oh yeah, that'd go over well. Sorry, Sammy, I've been lying to you this whole time. No hard feelings, kay? Hell, knowing my luck, it'd finally get the both of us killed _and_ give the Deamhanan the key to the fucking galaxy. After Sam hated me forever."

"You got no guarantee of that."

Something clanged loudly, echoing the hoarse rise of Dean's voice. 

"I don't need one! You think I haven't thought about it, Bobby? His life's already shitty enough without hearing how I've done nothing but let him down for the last seventeen fucking years." Dean took a breath that rattled down the stairs to Sam's hiding place. "I can at least do this right. Save the damn galaxy and give Sam a chance at the kind of life he deserves then ride off into the sunset like every other hero no one ever wants to hear from again."

"Dean..."

"Don't 'Dean' me, Bobby. I'm done with this conversation. Some things are better off staying secrets."

Sam heard Bobby's answering huff and the telltale thrum of footsteps on the floor. He stumbled hurriedly away before they could catch him, head swimming with fewer answers and even more questions.

After that, he redoubled his efforts to stay away from Dean. The last thing he needed was a fight with the ship's pilot on top of his other problems, especially since he feared that any such fight could very easily end with him tossing the infuriating bastard out the airlock. 

\----

Unfortunately, it was his attempts to stay as far away from Dean as humanly possible that ended up leading the Deamhanan right to him. Because Sam's life was just unfair like that.

They'd made a pit stop at a drifter colony not quite two clicks outside the Andali Nebula and Dean had sent Sam and Bobby to pick up some supplies while he refueled the ship and Castiel did god only knew what. Sam had jumped at the chance to escape the tense confines of the Impala, even if only for a short while, and Dean had seemed just as happy to see him go.

Sam carried the boxes of foodstuffs without complaint as Bobby traveled from stall to stall through the bazaar, listening with only half an ear to the no doubt sage advice that Bobby was trying to give him.

"All I'm saying is you can't ignore each other forever," Bobby said, only the gruff sincerity in his tone keeping Sam from snapping at him to mind his own damn business. "You're gonna have to talk about whatever's going on between you two sooner or later."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, because that'll be easy. I'm starting to think that Dean doesn't know how to have a meaningful conversation."

Bobby regarded him evenly. "You gonna let that stop you?"

Sam's eyebrow arched. "I'm pretty sure you can't tie someone down and _make_ them have a heart to heart."

Unexpectedly, that made Bobby smile. "Sam, you're more than capable of out-stubborning Dean. Don't let him fool you into thinking otherwise. Go get those delivered to the Impala," he said then, waving a hand at Sam's burden. "I want to see if they've got energy packs for our blasters on at a decent price."

"Right, sure." Sam left Bobby to the challenging task of flagging down the very large Sneed behind the counter and forged out of the store into the dense press of people wandering through the bazaar. 

He found a shipping bot in fairly short order, getting all the boxes neatly settled and punching in the Impala's berth number. The bot scooted off and Sam straightened from his crouch, spine twisting as he turned to head back to the store he'd left Bobby in.

Something large and blue loomed in front of him and Sam reared back half a second too late; arms like steel bands wrapped round him, pinning his arms to his sides and choking the air from his lungs. A gag was forced into his mouth before he'd caught enough breath to yell and he found himself being shuffled along with the flow of the crowd, away from Bobby and the docking bays. He thrashed furiously but the hold on him was a good one; without a weapon, there was no way Sam was getting out of it on his own. He tried going limp but the alien just hoisted him up kept on walking, hauling Sam bodily along and letting his feet drag across the ground.

They ducked into a side street and down a set of stairs that opened onto a small courtyard. The alien released him abruptly a few steps from the bottom and Sam stumbled the rest of the way, arm lashing out instinctively at the figure waiting for him.

A hand caught the blow before it could land, fingers clamping down hard on his wrist and yanking him in close. Sam found himself staring into a human face made grotesque by a pair of sickly yellow eyes and he froze, belatedly recognizing the smell of death lingering all around him.

The Deamhan smiled. "Hello, Sam," he said and pain exploded in Sam's brain as those strong fingers snapped his wrist like a twig. "I've been looking for you."

Sam vaguely registered the feeling of the ground beneath his knees, the agony lancing down his arm leaving his mind muddled and blurred. He tried to curl his fingers away when he felt the Deamhan reaching for his ring, but the sudden spike of pain left him gasping and helpless to stop the smooth slide of the metal down his finger and off.

Yellow Eyes made a satisfied sound. "I'm glad we got that out of the way." He tucked the ring into a pocket and shifted his grip on Sam's broken wrist in a way that made Sam wish he had the leisure of passing out. His other hand tugged at the wad of fabric in Sam's mouth, pulling it loose with surprising care. "I always hate the physical parts of these meetings. I appreciate you not screaming, by the way."

Sam gritted his teeth, fighting for clarity. "Who the hell are you?"

Yellow Eyes laughed. It was a distinctively unpleasant sound. "Why, Sam, I'm hurt. Don’t tell me you don't remember me."

"Cut the crap," Sam bit out. "You're just a Deamhan in a meat suit. There's nothing to remember."

"Ouch. Aren't you a feisty one?" Those eyes fastened on him with a sinister sort of interest. "That always makes things so much more... fun."

Yellow Eyes' grip tightened as he spoke and sparks flared warningly in Sam's vision.

"Y-you've got the ring," he gasped. "Just... kill me already."

"Kill you? Oh, no, Sam, you've got it all wrong." Yellow Eyes leaned in, voice lowering as if to share a secret. "We want you alive."

Sam stared at him. "What?"

Yellow Eyes turned an indulgent smile on him. "I told you I've been looking for you."

"But- the ring, Titan..."

"Small fry," Yellow Eyes dismissed. "You're the one we're really after - the Titan is just a bonus."

Sam's voice sounded as lost as he felt. "Why?"

"Come on, Sam, is it really so hard to believe? That you belong with the Deamhanan? That there might be a place, just one place, in this whole universe where you belong? Where you'd be accepted?" He smiled gently. "Just because dear old dad didn't want you doesn't mean no one else does either."

Sam shut his eyes. "Stop it."

"Tell me, Sammy, what was it like, being abandoned by your only family? Your daddy might have cared enough to hide you away, but he didn't love you enough to keep you, did he?"

"Shut _up_!" Sam roared, the Deamhan's words echoing the dark mutterings in the back of his mind with frightening accuracy. 

Yellow Eyes ignored him, still talking in that dark, dangerously smooth tone. "You know, most humans we don't care about so much. You're really not a particularly interesting species." He smiled. "But you, Sam, you're special. We've got great plans for you."

"What plans?" Sam demanded, proud of the fact that his voice didn't shake.

"Ah, ah," Yellow Eyes tutted. "Wouldn't want to spoil the surprise."

" _I_ would," said a voice and Sam twisted his head round to see Dean silhouetted in the light from the stairwell, blaster in hand and reckless grin firmly in place. "Makes life more interesting, don't you think, Azazel?"

"Ah," Yellow Eyes, Azazel, said, not sounding the slightest bit put out. "And here comes the late John Winchester's pet pilot. Harvelle isn't it? I was wondering if you would grace us with your presence. Not keeping such great tabs on your charge, are you?"

Dean shrugged. "I'll get him a collar before we go. Now how about you fuck off back to wherever you came from before I break _your_ wrists?"

Azazel's eyebrow arched. "A funny man, huh? Cute."

"I'm fucking delightful." Dean paused in his staring match with Azazel to dart a glance at Sam. "How you holding up there, Sammy?"

"Swell," Sam answered, with all the dryness he could manage under the circumstances. "I think you'd better ru-"

"Don't worry," Dean interrupted and actually winked at him. "It's all under control."

"This is all very touching boys," Azazel said. "But I'm sorry to say it's a wasted effort. Sam's coming with me, Harvelle. And if you try and stop me, well. I'm afraid I'm going to have to kill you."

Dean tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Yeah, no, that doesn't work for me. Think I'd rather just shoot you."

"Well," Azazel said, after a pregnant pause. "I must admit I hadn't expected John Winchester's protégé to be quite so stupid. But if it makes you feel better, go right ahead."

Challenge sparked in Dean's smirk. "Well alright then."

He surged forward and Sam cried out an instinctive, "Dean!", sure he was about to watch Azazel rip him limb from limb. But Dean didn't hesitate, just sighted down his blaster and pulled the trigger.

The hum of his blaster's retort echoed sharply through the air and Sam nearly swallowed his tongue when Azazel reeled, hand flying to his shoulder to staunch the sudden, impossible flow of something black and oozing down the sleeve of his shirt.

The fingers wrapped around Sam's wrist loosened fractionally and he wrenched himself free, staggering back a handful of steps when the resulting thunderclap of pain made his vision swim. There were hands on his arms a moment later and he thrashed instinctively before he realized they were Dean's.

"I gotcha," Dean's voice said against his cheek, strong and solid. "I gotcha."

"Dean," Sam gasped, more relieved than he would have liked to admit. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Hey," Dean protested. "I'm here, aren't I? Save yourself next time, you ungrateful bastard."

"Don't speak too soon, Dean Harvelle," Azazel said and Sam and Dean both straightened to see that the flow of black ooze had all but stopped, the skin of Azazel's shoulder knitting itself back together beneath the tattered wreck of his shirt. Rage shone in the glint of his yellow eyes and arched in the curl of his lip. "I am going to enjoy killing you."

"Sorry," Dean drawled, hand tightening on Sam's arm. "My calendar's fully booked this week. Try again in fifty years or so."

Azazel started forward, dark-eyed and intent, and Dean sucked in a deep breath.

"Cas!" he bellowed and Sam had a split second impression of _wings_ before a hand wrapped around his bicep and the whole world whited out.

The ground returned just in time to keep him from falling over, though Sam still staggered back in shock when he realized that he was standing on the Impala's bridge, Dean and Castiel hovering on either side of him.

"Wha-?" he managed.

"Short range teleport," Dean explained. "One of Cas' tricks."

"Oh," said Sam. "That's handy. Thanks, Castiel."

Castiel inclined his head. "You're welcome. I am glad you are mostly unharmed."

"Me too." Sam's wrist throbbed in reminder of the 'mostly' and he grimaced.

"You okay?" Dean's hands reappeared and started steering him towards the chair at the navigation console. "Sit the hell down before you fall down. Bobby," he called over his shoulder. "How long before we're spaceborne? I want to get the fuck off this colony before that yellow-eyed bastard gets his act together."

"We'd be out of here sooner if you'd stop nagging me," Bobby retorted and Sam realized that Bobby was at the ship's controls, metal and earth sliding past the Impala's viewports as several pairs of competent hands navigated them out of the docking bay. 

Bobby darted a sober look at Dean. "So it was him, huh? Azazel?"

Dean's answering nod was grim. "In someone else's flesh. I managed to ding him, but it healed pretty quick. Think the surprise did more harm than the blast."

Bobby nodded. "That won't work a second time," he warned.

"I know."

"Well, I don’t." Sam glared at the pair of them, doing his best to look imposing while feeling like he was three steps shy of passing out. "Who's Azazel? And how the hell did you hurt a Deamhan?"

"Azazel's one of Lucifer's high generals," Bobby explained. "Stronger, meaner and more ruthless than your average Deamhan. And as far as hurting him goes," he tilted his head in Dean's direction. "It's that blaster."

"Blaster?" Sam asked, glancing at the weapon in Dean's hand. It looked different from Dean's normal blaster, long and unnaturally thin. "Your backup one?" he guessed. 

Dean threw a slightly crooked smirk at him. "Told you it was only for emergencies." He twirled the gun once and slid it neatly into the holster at his back. "S'not enough to kill Deamhanan, but it packs enough of a punch to piss 'em off."

Sam made an absent noise of agreement. "Sounds like your kind of weapon," he remarked, then sobered. "He got the ring," he admitted. "I'm sorry, I couldn't stop him."

"Don't worry about it," Dean said. He turned away from Sam's shocked face to look at Castiel. "Cas, get the nav points reconfigured as soon as we clear the air lock."

"Understood."

Sam blinked. "What?"

Dean barely spared him a glance. "You can set the controls to auto once Cas' got the coordinates adjusted," he said to Bobby who raised an eyebrow but didn't object.

"What the hell, Dean?" Sam demanded, his ire rising. "Aren't you listening? The Deamhanan have the ring! They know where the Titan is!"

"Well then I guess we'd better our asses in gear then, huh?" Dean's gaze flitted down to Sam's lap and away again, something sour twisting his mouth. 

"God dammit, Dean!" Sam yelled, on his feet again and practically vibrating with the need to hit something. Preferably Dean. "We can't find the Titan without the ring, remember?"

"It's fine," Dean said.

"No it is damn well not fine, you secretive son of a-"

"It's _fine_ ," Dean repeated, as cold as Sam had ever heard him. "So shut the hell up." His attention flicked to Bobby and Castiel, who were very carefully not involving themselves in the conversation. "Are you two finished?"

Bobby sighed. "Dean..."

"I am so not in the mood for this right now, Bobby."

"You don't say," Bobby muttered. "Stubborn idjit." He punched a series of commands into the console then headed for the exit. "Auto-flight's set," he said over his shoulder. "You know where to find me when you decide to stop acting like a child."

He vanished down the stairs, muttering as he went. 

A sigh rattled out of Dean's chest, eyes cutting sideways. "You gonna tell me off too, Cas?"

Castiel regarded Dean for a long moment. "I assume you know you're being foolish."

Dean didn't say anything. 

Castiel nodded. "I thought as much."

He was gone between one blink and the next, which left Sam alone on the bridge with Dean, wondering what the fuck he was supposed to be doing.

Dean glared at nothing for a long moment, jaw clenched and hands fisted at his sides. Finally, he squared his shoulders and spun on his heel. "Come on," he said to Sam. "Let's get that wrist fixed up."

Sam followed along wordlessly as Dean led the way to the infirmary. When they got there, Dean gestured for Sam to sit and went to rummage in the cupboard.

"Push your sleeve up," he ordered, coming back with some medical tool Sam had never seen before and two rolls of gauze. The supplies went on the table next to Sam and then Dean's hands were spreading warm and careful on Sam's wrist.

"This is gonna hurt like a bitch," Dean cautioned. "Don't move."

"O-" was about as far as Sam got before Dean's fingers wrenched sharply and pain surged through his veins, driving the breath out of his lungs and sending his eyes to watering. "Fuck," he managed weakly.

"Just hold tight," Dean said, one hand leaving Sam's throbbing wrist to grab for the whatever it was. "Won't be much longer."

He jabbed the tool right against the break and Sam groaned, free hand curling round the edge of the table in a desperate bid to keep himself still. A new, tingling sensation threaded through the agony clouding his limbs, like an itch under his skin that made his whole body want to spasm.

"It accelerates the bone's knitting process," Dean told him, brow furrowed and expression intent. "So you're basically getting a couple months worth of healing in about three minutes."

"Swell," Sam gritted, blinking away the sweat rolling into his eyes. He panted at the ceiling, unable to focus on anything but the burning, itching pain crawling up his arm.

"...And that should juusst. About. Do it." The pain radiating from Sam's wrist cut off abruptly as Dean pulled the tool away and he all but collapsed onto the table, body shaking with the aftershocks.

"You'll want to give it at least a click and a half to finish healing," Dean said, fingertips rough but careful as he wrapped Sam's arm in gauze from his knuckles halfway to his elbow. "So try not to lose any more fights, okay?"

Dean released him and Sam flexed his fingers carefully, relieved when the move prompted little more than an absent twinge. 

"Thanks," Sam said after a moment.

Dean nodded, packing the supplies away. "Don't mention it."

Sam frowned at himself. "No, that's not-" Dean glanced at him, one eyebrow eloquently crooked, and Sam huffed out a breath. "Not just for this, I mean... thanks. For coming after me."

"Like I said. Don't mention it." Dean huffed out a shaky breath, staring fixedly at the floor. "But you gotta be more careful, Sammy. I can't always be there to keep you safe."

Sam's first instinct was anger - did Dean think he was helpless? - until Dean looked up. There was genuine fear in Dean's eyes, poorly hidden behind a veil of frustration and desperate enough to leave Sam reeling. He hadn't known that Dean - larger than life, swaggering, blaster-toting Dean - could look that vulnerable.

"Dean?" he asked, off the table and several steps closer without a thought. Dean didn't move and it wasn't long before they were toe-to-toe, just shy of touching. "I'm alright, Dean. Really."

"God, Sam, if you got hurt," Dean was hardly talking to Sam at this point, all that desperation and self-loathing turning inwards. "I don't know what -"

Dean's words broke off sharply and Sam gave in to the impulse to reach out, curling one hand around Dean's neck and holding on. Muscles tensed then relaxed under his fingertips and Dean's face when he looked up was stark with a need that Sam couldn't even begin to unravel. Dean didn't move as Sam leaned in closer, angling his head down and tipping Dean's carefully up.

Their lips brushed, barely even a kiss, and Dean jolted back like he'd been electrocuted, nearly breaking Sam's other wrist in his hurry to escape.

"Dean," Sam said, plaintive and not caring.

Dean shook his head, his panic turning into firm resolve between one heartbeat and the next. "No. We're not going there."

"Why not? I'm not a child, Dean, I can make my own decisions."

"Yeah, well so can I," Dean shot back. "And I've decided we're not doing this. You want me to kick your ass a couple times to prove it to you?"

Sam scowled. "What I _want_ is for you to tell me what the hell your problem is! I can tell you're interested and I don't for one second believe that bullshit about not fucking around with your coworkers so what. The fuck. Is stopping you?"

"It's none of your fucking business." Dean shut the cupboard door with a snap. "This conversation is over."

"No it is n-"

Dean was out the door before Sam could finish and Sam gaped for a long moment, trying to decide whether he was more pissed off or hurt by the rejection. 

His fists clenched. Pissed off. Definitely more pissed off.

"Oh no it is fucking not." He charged out the door and headed straight for Dean's quarters, the hallway ringing with his rapid footfalls.

Dean's door was still unlocked so Sam barged right on in and found Dean sitting on the edge of his bed, head in his hands. Sam slammed the door shut behind him and Dean jerked his head up, the weariness in his expression buried in righteous indignation the moment he realized who was looming in his doorway.

"Sam," he threatened, but Sam was having none of it.

"No." Sam stood his ground, deliberately blocking the exit. "I'm sick of your bullshit. You don't get to fucking walk away from me this time, Dean. We're having this conversation whether you like it or not."

Dean sneered at him. "Have fun talking to yourself then."

"You can't avoid me forever."

"Watch me," shot back Dean blithely, the stiffness in his spine just barely betraying the nonchalance in his tone.

Sam valiantly resisted the urge to shake him until his teeth rattled. "I know you're hiding something," he said, careful to keep his words measured and clear. "I heard you talking to Bobby..."

"Not nice to eavesdrop, Sammy."

"Shut up," Sam snapped. "You're the one who's so determined to keep me the dark; you don't get to fucking complain if I find my answers some other way." Sam softened his tone with an effort, aiming for entreaty instead of command. "Dean. Just once, please. Tell me the truth."

Dean's expression was unfathomable. "No."

"What have I done to make you hate me?" Sam demanded, hating the way it came out bruised and vulnerable. "What's so horrible about Sam Winchester that you can't stand to be around him? 

Dean sighed. "I don't hate you."

Sam nodded, clenching his jaw. "Right. You just don't trust me."

"Sam..."

"No that's fine. Thanks, Dean, it's good to know where I stand. So I'm just along for the ride, huh? I already know you're planning to drop me off somewhere convenient once you didn't need my help." Sam spread his arms wide. "Well guess what ,Dean? Looks like you never needed me, after all. Not if you know how to find the Titan even without the fucking ring. So, what? You gonna find a transport stop to leave me at? Give me enough credits for a shuttle to the closest drifter colony? Or am I gonna have to turn tricks on the street in order to survive?"

"Stop it, Sam," Dean said, sounding weary and worn.

But Sam wasn't done yet. "Don't even know why you bothered saving me when I'm nothing but a burden. Should have just let the Deamhanan turn me into a meat suit - put me out of my damn misery."

Dean was across the room in an instant, hand fisting in Sam's shirt and dragging him down with bruising force.

"You fucking moron," Dean growled, fire snapping in green eyes. "I will do _whatever_ it takes to keep you safe, you hear me? Keeping secrets is the fucking least of it. So don't even joke about the Deamhanan getting their dirty fucking hands on you because it's never happening."

"They're going to get to the Titan before us," Sam said, not quite challenging.

"No they won't."

"How do you-"

"They _won't_ okay?"

Sam stared him down. "Not good enough, Dean. Why are you so sure you're gonna be able to find it without my ring?"

"Because I can use my fucking ring instead, okay?" Dean snapped and promptly looked like he wanted to swallow his tongue. "Fuck."

Sam stared, stunned. "You... it, what?" 

Dean didn't answer, fingers slipping loose from Sam's shirt as he retreated across the room. 

"How?" Sam demanded.

Dean lifted one shoulder in a lopsided shrug. "How else? Your dad set it up that way."

"But- why? And why didn't you say anything?"

"Because nobody needed to know. And it'd be up to you dad to tell you the first part." A fraction of Dean's usual smile lifted his mouth. "Although he was just as stubborn as you are so I doubt you'd have gotten an answer."

"I wouldn't know," Sam said bitterly. He sat down on the edge of Dean's bed without waiting for permission, feeling hollowed out and tired. "He's hardly even a memory at this point. Just another regret."

Dean sighed and the mattress dipped next to Sam. "Sam..."

"I always hated him," Sam confessed. "For leaving me. He was the only thing I had left in the universe and he just... left."

"He was only doing what he thought was best," Dean said, almost gently. "He was trying to keep you safe. Which is why you're alive and he's not."

Sam hummed noncommittally. They sat side by side for a time, and Sam took comfort in the strangely companionable silence that had fallen between them. He stared at his hands, wondering where his anger had gone.

"What was he like?" he asked eventually. "My dad."

Dean's smile looked like it cut from the inside. "He was a great man," he said simply. "And one hell of a taskmaster."

"That's it?" Sam asked. He looked into Dean's eyes from far too close. "That's all you can tell me?" 

"Tell you what," Dean said, smoothing the jagged edges of his smile with obvious effort. His hand clapped down on Sam's shoulder. "When this is all over, if still want to know, get me very, very drunk and we'll talk. Now go the hell to your own bed," he added, releasing Sam's shoulder and shoving him off the bed. "We've got a busy few clicks ahead of us."

"Right." Sam turned to go, fighting the part of him that wanted to stay here with Dean and- god, Sam didn't even know if he wanted to fuck him or hold onto him until the rest of the universe went away. Maybe both. 

But he kept walking, feeling the weight of Dean's eyes on him and knowing that there'd be little to no chance of getting a straight answer out of Dean while the task of saving the universe was still hanging over their heads. Still, Sam could be patient. 

And when the dust cleared, he was going to pin Dean fucking Harvelle to the floor and _make_ him talk.

\---

The next time he saw Dean, it was two full clicks later and the Impala was deep inside the ice rings of Tegrin. Massive frozen spires drifted aimlessly through the silence, looming in on all sides and slowing the Impala's progress to barely a crawl. Sam could hear the steady, ponderous creak of the ice even through the ship's paneling. Every now and then a jumble of spires would collide together with a noise like thunder and fire, sending shards as long as the Impala plummeting through the void, tearing chunks off other spires as they fell before slowing, shifting, catching themselves and rejoining the drifting circle to become the heart of a new spire.

"How are we going to find anything in here?" Sam demanded. "We'll never get a decent reading."

"He is correct," Castiel said, from where he was watching the navigation console. "The ice is affecting the equipment." A quick glance at the holofeed. "And Sam's map is of no further use now that we cannot refine it further."

Dean's hands, Sam noticed, were white-knuckled on the controls. "Yeah," he said. "I know."

"Dean?" That was Bobby, a weight to his voice that was clearly meant for Dean alone.

And one that Dean clearly understood. 

"Fuck," he said succinctly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "You'd better take over for me, Bobby. Keep 'em off our tail for as long as you can. "

Bobby nodded, shifting behind the controls as Dean stood. "Where do you want me to let you out?"

"Anywhere around here's good," Dean said to Bobby. He clapped him on the shoulder and stepped back. "Give Sam and me five minutes to get ready."

"Got it," Bobby said and Dean turned to Castiel.

"Cas, Bobby's in charge while I'm gone. Don't let it go to his head. And for fuck's sake, don't let him break my ship."

"Understood."

"Thanks." Dean headed for the door, obviously expecting Sam to follow. Sam spared a wistful thought for a day when he could do the leading, then squared his shoulders and jogged after Dean.

Sam caught up to him just outside the door to the control deck. "Where are we going?" he asked, falling into step.

"The Deamhanan can't be far behind us but even with the ring they won't be able to get a good reading either. Which means they'll try and get us to lead them to the Titan. Bobby and Cas'll keep them occupied while we sneak in."

"And we're going to do that how?"

Dean grinned at him and pressed his palm against one of the few security pads that Sam's clearance hadn't unlocked. "Fly. How else?"

The door opened onto a room that was a strange mix of auto shop and hangar bay. Sam figured he should have known that Dean would be mechanically inclined.

"You got anything in here that isn't in pieces?" Sam asked, looking around at the stripped-down one seaters, escape pods and space racers scattered in various stages of junk all around the room.

"Should make you float there, bitch." Dean stepped forward and pulled a tarp off a long shape near the bay doors. "We're taking this one."

Sam stared. "What is _that_?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "What's it look like, genius?"

"A motorcycle," said Sam, because it did. Not that he'd ever seen one outside of books, of course. "Which seems really frigging useless in outer space, if you ask me."

"You know," said Dean, almost mildly. "Just once, it'd be nice if you had some faith in me." He slung a leg over the seat and gave Sam an imperious don't-fuck-with-me look. "Get the hell on."

Sam hesitated. "Can't Castiel just port us there?" he asked, disappointed but not really surprised when Dean shook his head.

"Titan's shielded against any kind of molecular shifting," he explained. "And Castiel's aim isn't always that great. Now stop being a pussy and get on the damn bike."

Gingerly, Sam settled himself behind Dean, hands resting awkwardly on Dean's hips. "Aren't we going to put on space suits?"

"Don't need 'em," Dean said, blithely ignoring the press of Sam all along his back. A kick of his leg spurred the engine to life and Dean flicked on his communicator. "Ready when you are, Bobby."

"Got it," Bobby's voice crackled out and Dean threw a grin over his shoulder.

"Better hold on. And don't let those gargantuan limbs of yours dangle out of the air field."

"The-" Sam started, but the sudden whoosh of a containment shield arching in a sphere around them answered the question for him.

The hangar doors creaked open and Dean gunned the engine. They roared down the ramp and jolted out into open space, falling for a few heart stopping seconds before the bike's jets caught them.

Dean wasted no time weaving into the mess of ice clusters, moving away from the ship as quickly as possible. Sam twisted round to see the Impala continuing on its careful way without them, hangar door already closed.

Their little bike was light and fast and Dean seemed to know exactly where he was going. They zipped through the ice field at a dizzying speed and Sam could only imagine how often Dean'd raced on bikes like these just for the thrill, his hands steady on the controls and fire tripping through his veins. 

They drove for long enough that Sam's ass started protesting the hardness of the seat under them. He'd long since given up trying to track their progress, unable to keep his bearings amid the constantly shifting ice.

"I hope you know what you're doing!" he yelled to Dean over the roar of icy wind in his ears. Dean let go of the handlebar long enough to give Sam a comforting, albeit condescending, pat on the arm. _Trust me._

Sam figured he'd been doing that since he'd left Stan-4-D with him.

Dean swerved round a chunk of ice and the Titan's hull loomed suddenly in front of them, so close that Sam could hardly believe he hadn't seen it sooner. It drifted silent and dark amid the clustered ice crystals, little more than a shadow in a glittering sea.

The Titan was easily three times the size of the Impala, its hull spherical and seamless. Dean edged them carefully closer, head twisting as he looked for an entrance. Catching a glimpse of a docking bay above them, Sam tapped Dean's shoulder and gestured towards it. He was rewarded with a nod from Dean and a boost in the bike's bottom thrusters to bring them higher.

They drove into the airlock and Sam was relieved to see that the Titan's support systems were still functioning even after nearly two decades of neglect. Dean dropped the bike's shield once the airlock's oxygen levels had leveled out, then elbowed Sam until he unfolded himself and got up.

"Come on," he said, once they were both upright and the bike was safely stowed in one of the hangars. "Let's go do this thing."

There was a digital lock set into the inner door but Dean barely glanced at it. 

"It won't work. Your dad disabled them all." He gestured at the security pad on the wall next to the door. "After you."

"Why would dad be worried about the Deamhanan getting into the Titan?" asked Sam. The pad tingled when he pressed his hand against it, warming against his skin for a moment before something clicked and the door slid open. They stepped through, Dean in the lead. "Won't they just blow it up?"

Dean shrugged. "If they have to, yeah. But it'd make a lot more sense for them to figure out how to defend themselves against your dad's weapon. That way they'll be prepared if some other species figures it out a couple dozen years down the road."

They walked down the corridor in semi-darkness, the Titan's emergency lights just bright enough to throw half of Dean's face in sharp relief and hide the rest in shadows. The corridors were curved to match the shape of the hull, Sam noticed, and meticulously laid out. The whole ship had a precise, regimented feel to it that made Sam think, bizarrely, of _Star Trek_.

"This is a military vessel," he realized, sudden and sure. Dean's careful not-surprise told him the rest of the story. "A battleship?"

"Well, where else would you keep a weapon of mass destruction?" Dean asked, and Sam had to concede the point. They passed a corridor lined with rows of identical doorways and Dean made a negligent gesture towards it. "The Titan was built to house two full regiments - not that it ever got staffed."

Sam thought about that. "Why did my dad choose to hide the Titan instead of fighting? Before the Deamhanan destroyed the Earth, I mean."

"No time." Dean took a right, their footfalls echoing in the musty quiet. "The Deamhanan struck sooner and harder than anyone expected. And there wasn't enough of a military presence left After Earth to launch any kind of resistance. So your dad did the only thing he could do - stashed the Titan somewhere safe and made damn sure that there wasn't any way for the Deamhanan to find it."

"But you knew how to find it." Sam glanced at Dean, struck suddenly by the absolute ease with which he was navigating the labyrinthine halls. "And you know your way through the ship."

"Maybe I'm just getting us lost," Dean suggested, pausing while Sam let them through another door. The corridor they entered was wider than the one they'd just left, comm stations placed at regular intervals on either side. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"Dean." Sam stopped walking, waiting until Dean stopped, sighed and turned to face him. "How do you know so much about the Titan when no one's seen it for seventeen years? And none of your evasive bullshit."

"You never give up, do you?" Dean asked, though it was more to himself than to Sam. He sighed again, jaw squaring as he looked Sam straight in the eyes. "I know because I've been here before. Now will you move your ass before the Deamhanan decide to blow us to Hell after all?"

"You..." Sam stared and Dean met his shock unflinchingly. "Seriously?"

Dean's hand gripped him by the elbow and tugged insistently. "I know walking and talking at the same time is hard for you, Sam, but can you please give it the old college try? We're kind of on a deadline here."

Sam let Dean propel them both into motion again, mind swirling.

"Your dad brought me," Dean admitted before Sam could ask, which was very nearly as shocking as the words themselves. "That's why I know my way around. Hand."

"But," Sam pressed his palm against the pad on autopilot, only absently noting that the doors were getting more frequent. "Why would he do that?"

Dean shrugged, talking to the hallway rather than Sam. "Insurance? Wouldn't do the human race much good if he got himself killed fighting the good fight and no one knew what to do with his ace in the hole once they found it."

"Maybe." Sam frowned. "Couldn't you have started the fight when he brought you here? Brought the weapon back and led your revolution?"

"No, we couldn't." Dean took a deep breath, eyes closing as he said, "Because I was nine and the Earth had just blown up. He brought me with him when he escaped."

"What? " Sam gaped at him, incredulous. "But- I thought he knew you through Ellen! You said you weren't adopted until After Earth!"

"I wasn't."

"Then how? _Why_?"

"Here we are," Dean said suddenly, stopping in front of a door with an insignia etched into it that Sam didn't recognize. He tilted a glance at Sam without making eye contact. "Care to do the honours?"

Sam huffed out an irritated breath. "Dammit Dean, would you stop-"

"Sam." Dean's face was implacable. "We are trying to save the universe. Now is not the time for a click flick moment. Open the damn door."

An angry retort rose immediately on Sam's tongue but he forced it back down. As much as he hated to admit it, Dean was right.

"Don't think I'm going to forget about this," he warned Dean, and pressed his hand against the panel.

The door opened to a dark room, the emergency lights doing little to illuminate what seemed like an incredibly large space. Dean led the way in, hand on his pistol for no reason Sam could determine, and Sam followed behind, squinting through the dim. There was a control console set into the floor several feet in front of them, large enough to be the main flight system except for the fact that there were deep in the heart of the Titan.

Sam stepped further into the room, aware of Dean's footfalls veering off from him at an oblique angle. Deciding that it was safe enough to split up for the time being, he walked curiously up to the console.

It was definitely a major command centre, Sam noticed right away, although with no power running through the systems it was difficult to tell what type. As he leaned in closer, squinting in the dim, a glint of light off metal caught his eye. He turned and found a blaster lying on top of the console, its shape long, narrow and, somehow, vaguely familiar. He picked it up, registering the surprisingly substantial heft to it, and turned around. "Dean?"

"Whatcha got there, Sam?" Dean's voice called from somewhere in the dark.

"It's a gun," Sam said dumbly, feeling strangely disappointed. "It's just a gun."

"Actually-" 

Something clunked loudly in the darkness and the lights flickered on to reveal a room a good three stories high and long enough to park a mid-sized cargo ship in it. Every inch of every wall was lined with rows and rows of gleaming blasters, all identical to the one in Sam's hands. Dean stepped forward from where he'd triggered the power and grinned at him, fiercely exultant. "It's a whole lot of guns."

Sam gaped and Dean laughed.

"Oh come on, Sammy. You really think you'd need a battleship this size for one measly cannon or something? We're trying to start a revolution, not celebrate the Fourth of July."

"You are far too amused by out-of-date metaphors." Now that the lights were on, Sam looked again at the weapon in his hands, taking in the details. "This looks like your emergency blaster," he realized suddenly, with a startled glance at Dean. 

"Hmm? Oh, yeah." Dean's hand went to the small of his back and pulled out the blaster in question, hefting it idly. "That's cause this one's the prototype. Luckily the real ones work better."

"The..." Sam laughed a little, disbelievingly. "Do you ever run out of secrets?"

The expression on Dean's face was unexpectedly sober as he shrugged. "Guess not."

"So," Sam said, after a brief, awkward silence. "Now what?"

"Now we get this baby up and running and try not to get ice-speared to death on the way out." Dean gestured at the still-dark console in the middle of the floor. "You wanna get that thing started for us?"

Sam nodded, then paused as a thought struck him. "Wait. How'd you turn on the lights?"

"Cheated," Dean answered, which wasn't any kind of an answer at all. His eyebrow arched. "You just gonna stand there all day?"

"Maybe," Sam shot back, already moving towards the console. The Titan's filtration systems had obviously kept running while it had been in hiding; the console was spotlessly clean, no layer of dust marring the gleaming chrome. Sam let his hands drift across the surface and watched as the holofeeds and panels came to immediate life under his fingertips.

"Wow," he said, leaning in to take a closer look. "This is a gorgeous piece of technology."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Dean shrug. "It _was_ the star of the Earth space fleet."

The words were hardly out of his mouth when one of the panels flared, bright enough to make Sam's eyes water. "Voice activated?" he guessed.

"Looks like," Dean agreed tightly, wariness etched into every limb.

The brightness dimmed and resolved itself into a holographic image, blurry around the edges, of a man with a dark beard and the solid bearing of a soldier. Exactly like Sam remembered him.

"Dean," said the image of Sam's dad. "I am so, so sorry."

The hologram flickered, then vanished altogether, and Sam felt a brief flare of anger at the fact that the man couldn't have bothered to leave a longer message. Then he glanced over at Dean and forgot about it entirely.

Dean looked _wrecked_ , body tense and eyes stormy. He was literally vibrating with emotion, though Sam couldn't tell if it was rage or anguish.

"Dean?" he asked carefully. "You okay?"

Dean gave himself an abrupt shake and plastered on a careless face. "You finished feeling up the computer?" he asked, with patently false cheer and absolutely no attempt at subtlety. "Or were you planning on buying it dinner?"

"Jerk," Sam shot back, giving Dean the out he was asking for. Anything to drive the hurt out of his eyes. "Like you haven't been drooling over the Impala for years." 

"Piloting's different." Dean's hand waved at the console. "This stuff is way beyond my level of expertise."

Sam frowned. "I'm sure you could-"

Noise brayed suddenly through the room, ear-splittingly loud in the silence, and Sam jumped. "What's...?"

Dean swore. "Proximity alert. They've found us." 

He vaulted over the console and started scanning the data displayed there, the quick, competent dart of his eyes putting the lie to his claim of ineptitude. "Most of the ship's systems are still shut off," he said. "We've got to get the shields up before they blow us out of the sky."

"Here." Sam leaned in and Dean let him, easing back to give Sam access. "I can't get them running from here," Sam said after a moment, fingers flying across the keys. "This terminal's not tied into the defense system."

"Can you figure out which one is?"

"One sec." Sam bit his lip, willing the holofeed to process faster as he dove headfirst into the ship's schematics.

"Running out of time here, Sam..."

"Just about... got it!" Sam looked over at Dean. "The defense system's linked to the main control board."

"Which is where?" Dean asked.

"The bridge."

"Great." Dean paced a line across the floor. "Can you get the shields up if you get access to the main control board?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Then that's where we're going. Saddle up."

A hollow thud shook the floor and Sam's stomach twisted. "Are they firing on the Titan?"

Dean shook his head, already frowning. "If they were attacking you'd know it. That was one of the airlocks getting blown in. They're on board the ship."

Sam felt himself pale. "What are we going to do?"

"Fight." Dean squared his shoulders. "You get to the bridge and get the shields up. Keep any more of those bastards from getting aboard. The schematics show you how to get there?"

"Yeah, but," Sam watched Dean stride over to the wall and pull down a blaster. "What are you going to do?"

Dean glanced at him over the barrel. "Buy you some time."

"But-"

"I'll get Bobby and Cas to run interference on the outside," Dean added, right over Sam's attempts to argue. "Keep 'em too busy to land another group." Dean switched out his emergency blaster for the new one and reached up for another to replace the one in his thigh holster.

"But you can't open any of the doors!" Sam protested, more concerned than he would have expected by the sight of Dean arming himself. "What if you get trapped?"

Dean's grin was at once manic and determined. "Then I'll have something to put my back against. Now get moving. We haven't got much time."

Sam swallowed hard, then nodded and leaned back over the console to memorize the route before turning. "Shouldn't take long once I get there," he told Dean, who was hoisting another pair of blasters in his hands. He looked like a combat ready Ken doll. "I'll come find you when I'm done."

"Not if I find you first. Hey, Sam?"

Sam turned and nearly got hit in the face with the blaster Dean lobbed at him.

"Hasn't been charged in over fifteen years," Dean warned him. "So you've probably only got a handful of shots. Make 'em count."

"Right." Sam took a deep breath. "Don't you dare get yourself killed."

The arch of Dean's grin made something in Sam's chest flip over. "Likewise. Now move it. We've got work to do."

\---

Sam flew down the corridor, blaster held close to his chest and his brain whirring with the memory of the route he was supposed to be taking. The steady thud of his feet echoed back at him as he ran, leaving him hyperconscious of how easy it would be for anyone within hearing distance to track him down. He'd vaguely heard Dean sprint away in the opposite direction and his mind supplied images of Dean pounding through the ship, armed to the teeth and making enough noise to raise the dead. Literally.

Sam hoped like fuck they both survived this.

Most of the Titan's basic operations, including the running lights, had kicked in when Sam had rebooted the system and Sam was glad of the increased visibility as he careened through the corridors, hardly slowing to slap his hand on the security pads as he charged through door after door after door. Nothing got in the way, not the slightest flicker of life crossing his path, but Sam held on ruthlessly to the fear ratcheting up his heartbeat, trusting it to keep him vigilant. 

His pulse spiked when he rounded a corner to find the stairs up to the bridge, just where he'd expected them to be, and he fought for calm as he charged up and palmed his way through the door at the top. Now was not the time to lose his head.

The bridge was lit by the same white-tinged lights as the rest of the ship; a glance to the side revealed that the safety shutters had been lowered, blocking the viewports. Sam could still hear the creak of the ice spires drifting around the ship, vast and patient.

The door clicked shut behind him and Sam jerked his attention back to the task at hand. The main control board sprawled across a good third of the room, dead and cold. Sam took a page out of Dean's book and vaulted right into the middle of it, shoving the blaster into his waistband and spreading his hands wide. The sound of the computer engaging itself hummed through the air, sending Sam's ears to ringing.

The panel flared to whirring, blinking life and Sam dove in headfirst, a steady litany of 'defense systems, defense systems' tripping through his brain as he jumped hurriedly from function to function, spiraling ever deeper into the code.

A lifetime later, Sam finally tracked down the program he needed and wasted no time in activating it. He nearly ended up on his knees at the tremor that shook through the ship as the shields engaged.

"At least there's no way Dean'll have missed that," he muttered to himself. 

The impulse to go help Dean was nearly overwhelming, but Sam resisted it favour of locking the shields down so tightly that no one without Winchester DNA would be able to deactivate them without a miracle and a whole lot of technological savvy. Hopefully Bobby and Castiel wouldn't mind being locked out until Sam had time to undo it.

The whirr of the computer was loud in his ears as he worked and, at first, Sam didn't notice the extra echo of sound threading through that steady pulse. When he finally recognized the steady tread of boots on the stairs for what it was, he scarcely had time to punch in the final string of numbers, wheel around and bring his blaster up before the metal door dented in like someone had just driven a head-sized fist into it. The screeching of hydraulics filled the air as a second impact sent the door buckling inward, revealing the mismatched collection of black-eyed figures on the other side, Azazel at their head.

Azazel tutted reprovingly. "Sam, Sam, Sam," he sighed, stepping through the twisted remains of the door with a half dozen Deamhanan at his back. "And here I thought you were a smart boy."

"Back off," Sam warned him, blaster rock steady in his hands.

Azazel looked amused. "Now really, Sam, haven't we had about enough of this? Your heroic captain tried that on me once before, remember? It's not going to work any better this time."

Confusion washed over Sam for a split second before he realized; Azazel thought he was carrying Dean's blaster. Which meant he had no idea what sort of weapon the Titan was hiding.

Sam shifted his grip, allowing just a touch of uncertainty to bleed into the set of his shoulders. "Maybe not, but we both know it hurts like a son of a bitch. You wanna see how many shots it takes to have you on the floor?"

"Not really." Azazel's smile was mild enough to border on frightening. "So I hope you don't mind if I take matters into my own hands." A nod of his head propelled his flunkies into motion, their black eyes fixing on Sam with single-minded intensity.

Sam reacted instantly. His blaster retorted sharply, two, three, four times and the front line of Deamhanan collapsed, the blaster holes smoking fire-bright while viscous black smoke leaked out of ears and eyes and mouths. Sam was moving before the other two had a chance to realize what was going on, tuck-rolling out of the way and coming up shooting. 

They thudded to the ground nearly in tandem and Sam eased out of his crouch, blaster muzzle aimed once again at Azazel.

Whose eyebrow was arched nearly to his hairline. "Now _how_ ," he said, in a voice that made Sam's heart stutter. "Did you do that?"

Sam put his back to the console instinctively, fear jangling belatedly down his spine and turning his limbs to lead. Threatening in a way Sam had never realized any living thing could be, Azazel glided closer, step by careful step.

"That's not the same gun," Azazel noted, absent like it wasn't a surprise. He chuckled and the sound shuddered like ice through Sam's veins. "So that's what's been aboard the Titan all these years. To think, all this trouble for a little pistol." He smiled indulgently. "Hardly worth dying for, is it Sam?"

His hands were shaking, Sam realized. He made an effort towards stilling them, gritting his teeth against the instinctive urge to flee. "This little pistol's enough to kill you, Azazel."

Azazel's smile widened. "Perhaps. But only if you can hit me before I kill you. You'd be better off begging for mercy."

"Deamhanan don't have any mercy."

"Now, Sammy, that's just hurtful. You're a very special kid, you know that? Your daddy was smart to try and hide you, even if it did ruin your life. Too bad he didn't do a very good job of keeping you safe."

Sam squeezed out a scoff. "We've been through all this before, Azazel. Why the hell do you think I'd trust _you_ to-"

Azazel's laughter cut him off. "Well, who do you trust, Sam? Dean? You know he's keeping things from you. Never tells you anything, does he?"

Something must have shown on Sam's face because it made Azazel smile, slow and self-assured. "Poor Sammy. How does it feel, knowing that the only person you trust in the entire universe doesn't trust you enough to tell you the truth?" 

"Shut up."

Azazel ignored him, voice dropping conspiratorially. "How long do you think he's going to keep you hanging around now that he's got the Titan? It's not like he needs you anymore."

_He never did,_ Sam thought to himself, surprised to find that the thought was comforting rather than hurtful. _But he wanted me around anyway._

"You know what?" he said to Azazel. "I think I'll take my chances with Dean."

And then he fired.

Showing off a speed that couldn't possibly be natural, Azazel shifted smoothly out of the way of the blast and _moved_ , flashing into Sam's space before Sam could blink. Sam backpedalled hurriedly, the memory of how easily Azazel had snapped his wrist pain-sharp in his mind. Azazel's fist glanced off his shoulder as he twisted away and Sam bit back a curse as the ache thrummed through his entire arm. He fired three more shots in rapid succession, trying to keep out of range. 

Azazel just smiled that chilling smile again and lunged in, hands raised to strike.

Panting and desperate with the knowledge that he couldn't avoid Azazel for long, Sam changed direction mid-step and drove forward, ducking under Azazel's guard and driving his entire weight into Azazel's gut. Azazel barely faltered but Sam didn't let that stop him, using the same move he'd tried on Dean to twine their legs together, trapping Azazel in place with the blaster's muzzle right against his chest. 

Azazel stared at him, something like surprise rounding out his mouth. Sam glared into yellow eyes and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

A heartbeat's worth of shock and then the world was spinning crazily, Sam's breath knocking against the back of his teeth as his back hit the floor and Azazel's foot jammed into his throat with bruising force.

"Oh dear, Sammy," Azazel chided while Sam gagged, spots swimming in front of his eyes. "And I had such high hopes for you. At least you'll make an admirable vessel." 

His heel pressed in harder, cutting off Sam's air, and Sam thrashed helplessly, hands scrabbling at Azazel's ankle. His vision started going dark.

And then he heard footsteps.

"Hey," said a very familiar voice, "Zombie breath." 

The pressure on Sam's throat eased slightly and Sam rolled his eyes back to see a blood-covered Dean standing in the doorway, shirt in tatters and one arm handing limp at his side. His thigh holster and hands were both empty.

"De-" Sam croaked.

Somehow, Dean managed to smile. "Hey, Sam." And then, to Azazel, "We have _got_ to stop meeting like this."

"Mr. Harvelle," Azazel said calmly, like he didn't have his foot jammed up against Sam's windpipe. "You're just in time to watch me kill poor little Sammy."

Dean's body language didn't change. "Now see," he said. "That's where you're wrong."

"Oh really?" Azazel glanced up and over towards the door, a parody of polite interest on his face. "And why's that?"

"Because you killed my dad, you son of a bitch," Dean growled. "And there's no way in hell I'm letting you get your hands on Sam too."

Dean's hand flashed to the small of his back and Sam grabbed instinctively at Azazel's leg, holding him in place with all the strength he could muster. Azazel cursed, eyes flicking briefly down and giving Dean all the opening he needed.

The shot took Azazel square in the forehead and he staggered, shock and pain scrawled openly across his face. He toppled backwards, liquid smoke painting his face black and Sam rolled hurriedly, bashing his shoulder against the console in his haste to get away from the Deamhan's thrashing limbs. Dean strode forward and matter-of-factly fired another half dozen shots into Azazel's gut, waiting until the last of the smoke had boiled into dust and Azazel's yellow eyes had gone blank and glassy before he drew a long, shuddering breath and let the blaster slip from his fingers to clatter across the floor. 

Sam sat up with a grimace of pain and Dean was across the room in an instant. He hauled Sam to his feet and crushed him against his chest in a hug so tight Sam didn't think he could have got out of even if he wanted to.

"God dammit, Sam," Dean said roughly, ignorant of his own wounds as he held Sam tight. "Thought I was gonna lose you again."

Dean pulled back and abruptly dragged Sam down into a kiss, mouth slanting desperate and hungry against Sam's lips and his good arm wrapping around Sam's neck like he never wanted to let go.

Sam let himself get swept away by the urgency in Dean's kiss, allowing the ravenous sweep of Dean's tongue for several long moments before kissing back hard, eating hungrily at Dean's mouth and feeling soft lips turning bruised and swollen under his assault. His own arms wrapped around Dean's waist, keeping him close, fingers skating lightly across Dean's lower back.

Then the heel of his hand brushed across a gash in Dean's side and Dean hissed and yanked himself away, eyes wide and colour high on his cheeks.

They stood there for a long moment, chests heaving and faces scarce inches apart. There was hunger in Dean's eyes, and fear, all tied up in a creeping self-loathing that Sam couldn't even begin to understand.

"Dean?" he tried, and Dean's face turned abruptly away.

"Sorry," he muttered, untangling himself from Sam. "I didn't- that wasn't-" He drew a shaky breath. "Sorry."

He retreated a few steps and Sam followed him, his eyes never leaving Dean's face.

Dean coughed. "Guess we'd better let Cas and Bobby know we're not dead."

"Dean..."

Dean flicked on his communicator without so much as glancing Sam's way, pain furrowing his brow as he hauled up his broken arm to speak into the receiver. "Bobby, you still alive?"

"Just about," came Bobby's reply, the connection thin enough to suggest that he and Cas were a good distance away. "You?"

"Could be worse. Azazel's dead, which pretty much makes my millennium. How's it going with you? You'd better not have scratched my baby's paint."

Sam heard Bobby sigh. "Like I can avoid that in a firefight, idjit. Seeing as you're not dead, you'll have plenty of time to fix her up later. Sam with you?"

"Hi, Bobby," Sam managed, not moving out of Dean's personal space.

"Good to hear you, son." Bobby cursed abruptly, the sound of Castiel telling him to watch where he was driving just vaguely audible in the background. "Gotta go. Give us five to finish up here and then we'll circle back your way."

"Thanks, Bobby," Dean said, then cut the connection and stared at a spot on the wall.

"Are we going to talk about this?" Sam asked.

"We might as well get the rest of the comms up and running while we're waiting," Dean said, tone defiantly light. "And drop the shields so they can bring the Impala in. The hangar's big enough."

A frustrated huff escaped Sam's chest. "Would you just-"

Dean ignored him and stepped over to the console, sending his fingers flashing over the buttons and screens with a steady ease that was only slightly hampered by his current inability to use his left hand.

Sam stared. "But-"

"Hey," said Dean without looking up, ignorant of the way Sam's eyes were practically bugging out of his head. "You wanna haul yourself up off the floor and do this for me, you go right ahead. Who the hell taught you to relink command systems, anyway? This is a fucking mess."

"Dean."

"Remind me to show you how to do this shit proper- ah, there you are you little fucker." A rapid series of keystrokes and Sam listened to the shields powering down with something frighteningly close to despair.

" _Dean._ "

"Fuck my arm hurts. Should have told Bobby to bring a medkit. And some clean pants." Dean half turned his way. "What's up with that face?"

"You-" Sam glanced at the console and back at Dean, sure that everything he was feeling was splashed across his face. "But I-"

Dean frowned. "What's wrong, Sammy?"

"I locked the controls," Sam told him and Dean's eyes rolled.

"Is that what you call that? That's just embarrassing."

"No, Dean... you don't understand. I locked the controls using the same protocol my dad set up for the rest of the ship." Sam looked up at Dean and watched the colour drain out of his face as realization set in. Sam's voice was whisper soft as he added, "The only people who should have been able to access the shield controls are me and my dad."

They stared at each other for what felt like a year to Sam's drum-taut nerves.

Finally, Dean hoisted his arm up again. "Bobby?" he said. "Take your time heading over - me and Sam need to have a talk."

Sam vaguely thought he heard Bobby mutter 'about fucking time' before Dean cut the connection and they both went back to staring at each other.

"So I lied before," Dean said, shoulders squaring like he was preparing for battle. "About your dad getting me adopted by Ellen. It wasn't him who did it."

"What? Then who...?"

"Bobby. As a favour to my dad."

"Your dad?" Sam leaned forward, watching emotions he couldn't even begin to name swirl inside the fear in Dean's eyes. "Bobby knew your dad?"

"Yeah."

"You said Azazel killed him," Sam remembered suddenly. "Is that why you joined the resistance?"

Dean shook his head. "I'd been in the resistance a long time before that happened."

"But," Sam frowned, enough of the puzzle falling into place to leave the remaining holes even more obvious. "If your dad was alive when you joined the resistance why did Ellen Harvelle adopt you? Couldn't you have just stayed with him?"

"I did." Dean's mouth twisted, something dark and aching in his face as he continued, "But as far as the whole universe knows, John Winchester only had one son so it wasn't quite the same."

Sam's breath caught in his throat. "What?"

"My real name," said Dean, almost calmly. "Is Dean Winchester. I'm the son of John and Mary Winchester and the older brother of Samuel Winchester. You."

"You can't be." The words left Sam's mouth unthinkingly and he wished he could bite them back when he saw Dean flinch in response. "Wait no, I didn't mean-"

"Yes, you did. But it's still true." Dean smiled and it didn't reach his eyes. "Sorry Sammy." 

"But I never had a brother!" Sam was on his feet without any memory of getting there, limbs trembling with the force of the shock rolling through him. "Even before the Earth was destroyed, it was always just me and Dad!"

The shake of Dean's head was resigned, sad. "That's just what you're supposed to believe. Bobby fixed it so that nobody except him and me would ever know or remember that there'd ever been a Dean Winchester. Not even you or Dad."

"Bobby? What does he-"

"He's a Venator," Dean shrugged. "They can do all sorts of nifty things with the right materials and a willing sacrifice."

"Willing?" Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. "You _willingly_ erased your entire existence? You let me forget that I had a brother? How could you do that?"

"You think I had much of a choice?!" Dean demanded, hurt and anger making his voice crack. "Dad knew that he needed to find a way to keep you and me safe from the Deamhanan and he'd already decided that it was too dangerous for Pastor Jim to take both of us. I couldn't stay with you and the only way I was going to get to stay with dad and not get shipped off to the first available drifter colony was to let the whole goddamn universe forget I existed! You try making that decision when you're nine years old and you've just lost your little brother and your entire fucking planet just got blown out of the sky!"

"Dean," Sam breathed, horrified.

Dean checked himself with obvious effort. "Don't you go feeling sorry for me, Sammy. It was the smartest choice. You were safe and I didn't have to put up with a lifetime of being a liability." He shrugged in a poor display of nonchalance. "Not to mention that then there was a backup Winchester in case anything ever happened to you." 

"So- wait. If you knew you were my brother, why did come looking for me? You could have found the Titan yourself!"

"Yeah, well," Dean said gruffly. "Just because you forgot about me doesn't mean I ever forgot about you. I wasn't about to let those fucking Deamhanan get their hands on you. Not to mention that I wanted to see what my pain in the ass little brother had done with himself." His expression shifted, something between pride and awe spilling into his eyes. "You grew up good, Sammy."

Sam's head was spinning. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded.

"Gee, Sam," Dean said. "Maybe because that would defeat the entire point of keeping it a goddamn secret in the first place? And let's not forget that you've spending the last five clicks trying to get into my pants! I didn't figure you'd want to know you were hot for your big brother!"

Something in that gave Sam pause. "But you knew," he said slowly, edging towards a realization that threatened to rearrange his worldview in a staggering way.

Dean scoffed. "That you were jonesing for some unintentional incest? Yeah, and wasn't that just a fucking pi-"

"No," Sam cut in. "You knew that _you_ were hot for _your_ brother."

Dean stilled. "You don't want to go there."

" _That's_ why you've been running hot and cold this entire time. Because you knew I was your brother and you didn't want to want me."

Dean's smile was grim. "Well I guess that means I'm even more of a fuckup than I thought. Bobby and Cas'll be here before long," he said then, gaze shifting to the hand he had spread across the spotless chrome of the command console. "Get 'em to take you wherever you wanna go, on my orders. Tell 'em I'll wait here till they get back." 

Sam froze. "What?"

"And make sure Cas gives you my share of the cash from the Telacorax job as well as what you already got," Dean continued, determinedly not looking in Sam's direction. "S'not a lot but it should be enough to get you settled till you figure out what you wanna do with yourself. With Azazel dead and the Titan back in business, I doubt the Deamhanan'll be bothered about coming after you anymore."

"No."

Dean's eyebrows flew up. "This isn't a debate, Sam."

"No it's not," Sam agreed, suddenly more sure of himself than he'd been in a long time. "Because it's my life and I can do what I want with it. And you're not getting rid of me that easy."

Dean frowned. "Sam..."

"No, Dean. It's your turn to listen. You're the one who got me into this mess and you've got absolutely no say if I decide to stay instead of fucking off to some drifter colony and pretending I don't know that you're fighting a _war_."

Dean's face paled. "Sam, no, you don't want that."

"And how the fuck would you know?" Sam stepped forward, close enough that their chests brushed. "News flash, Dean! I'm not a little kid anymore. And I don't need you to protect me from the big bad world. But that's not why you're trying to get rid of me, is it?" 

"I don't know what you're t-"

"The hell you don’t," Sam spat, riding right over Dean's attempt to distract him. "The truth is that you're too fucking afraid to deal with me now that I know your secret. What was it, Dean? Did you really think I'd never want to see you again when I learned you were my brother? Because I think you've spent so long beating yourself up over the fact that you weren't there for me as a kid that you can't even see that the situation's changed."

Dean's face was thundercloud dark. "Don’t push me, Sam," he warned, hand fisting in Sam's shirt like he was about to shove him away.

Sam just pressed in closer, trapping Dean against the console and not so incidentally trapping Dean's legs between his own. "I'll push you as hard as I damn well please. It's _my_ decision whether or not I stay and help you fight this war and it's my decision how to react to finding out that you're my brother." His righteous indignation faltered slightly and Sam sighed. "I don't blame you, Dean," he said, breath gusting against Dean's temple. "Even if I'd known you were out there, I still wouldn't have blamed you."

"You sure as hell blamed Dad," Dean said, voice sounding like it had gone through a garbage disposal.

"That's different. He made these lives for us. We’re the ones who had to make the best of them. It doesn't change anything," he added, soft as though Dean would bolt if he raised his voice. "That you're my brother. You still drive me mad and amaze me and make me want to kick ass and take names all over the galaxy." Dean's mouth crooked slightly at that and Sam took a deep breath. "And it doesn't change the fact that I still want to fuck you through the floor at the first possible opportunity if you'll let me."

Dean turned to stone. "Sam, don't-"

"I'm not going to force you, Dean," Sam said, unable to resist the impulse to keep Dean close for just a little bit longer. "I don't want that if you're not willing. But I'm not leaving and I'm not going to stop wanting you. I've never fit so well with someone else before and, yeah, maybe that's because we're brothers, but genetics can't explain the way you make me feel. And I know you feel it too. But it's your choice."

Dean's expression was anguished. "Don't make me choose this, Sammy. I can't."

Sam shrugged with a nonchalance he didn't feel. "Then don't. But you're gonna have to get used to it because it's not going away." He caught Dean's chin in his hand and leaned in for the barest brush of their mouths. "And neither am I."

He shifted away from the console to give Dean some space only to have Dean's hand tighten in his shirt and to find himself nearly jerked off his feet as Dean hauled him back in.

"You," Dean growled, apparently ignorant of the way Sam's hands had fallen to bracket his hips when he stumbled. "Are such a pain in my ass."

Sam offered him a hopeful little smile. "Little brother, right? I think it comes with the territory."

"Christ," Dean said, with an involuntary-sounding half laugh. "That is so weird, hearing you say that." 

Dean fell silent, staring at Sam like he was trying to see straight through him. Sam waited.

Finally, Dean spoke. "It's - I'm not saying no," he said, hushed in a way Sam had never heard him before. "But it might take me a while to get used to the whole, y'know, incest thing."

The absent gesture that Dean made to accompany that made Sam chuckle. "I can handle that," he said, and dragged Dean into a full-body hug. Dean stilled but didn't object and Sam reveled just a little bit when Dean's good arm came up to wrap around his waist, holding him just as close.

"Right," Dean coughed, after an indeterminate time of them just holding each other. He shoved at Sam's shoulders and Sam gave ground easily, giving Dean the space to slip free. "Now that you've had your embarrassing chick flick moment, I think we've left Cas and Bobby circling the ice rings for long enough. I'm gonna-"

"I can reprogram the computer to remove the genetic locks," Sam said, taking advantage of the sudden absence of Dean to spread his hands wide across the console. Dean raised an eyebrow at him and Sam threw an innocent look over his shoulder. "Wouldn't want you to blow your cover, Mr. Harvelle."

"Oh yeah?" Dean demanded, already back to his usual larger-than-life egoistic self. "And what do you expect me to do while you're communing with the computer?"

Sam very carefully didn't smile. "Well, we've got a whole ship full of bodies to get rid of."

Dean stared at him for a minute then laughed, a real, full bodied sound that made Sam's stomach flop. "We're going to drive each other nuts," he said, and Sam couldn't tell whether that was supposed to be a bad thing or not.

"Yeah," he agreed, grinning. "And I think it’s just what we both need."

~fin

A/N: And for anyone who's interested:  
Ange (pl. Anges) - French for 'angel'  
Deamhan (pl. Deamhanan) - Gaelic for 'demon'  
Venator (pl. Venatores) - Latin for 'hunter'  
I am such a dork.


End file.
